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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BOOKS    OF     ALL    KIND* 

HERE  FOR  SAL* 
5399  W.   HOLT    BLV: 
ONTARIO,  CALIF. 


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5399  WEST  HOLT  BLV». 

.  .  „, 


POWER  LOT 


MRS.   SKIl'l'KK   STOOD   IN    TIIK  TALL  (IRASS   IX    HKR 
FLOWKR   (JARDKX.     St<  page  23*. 


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POWER  LOT     ! 

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BY 

SARAH    P.    McLEAN   GREENE 

AUTHOR  OF  "  CAPE  COD   FOLKS,"  "  VESTY  OF  THE 
BASINS,"  "DEACON  LYSANDER,"  ETC. 

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THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 


33-37  EAST  17xH  ST.  UNION  SQUARE  NORTH 


CONTENTS 


I.  A  MESSAGE 9 

II.  WITHOUT  His  LATCHKEY 16 

III.  UP  THE  HIIX 30 

IV.  MARY  STINGAREE 46 

V.  THE  TIDE  MAKES  IK 63 

VI.  TWENTY   CENTS   AN    HOUR 82 

VII.  JOGGINS— NOT  so  STEEP 97 

VIII.  As  A  PUGILIST 115 

IX.  AN  EGG  FOR  A  STAMP 133 

X.  THE  PASSAGE  THROUGH 14^ 

XI.  ANOTHER  HILL 157 

XII.  THE  FIGHT  WITH  BEASTS 174 

XIII.  FRIENDLY 183 

XIV.  MRS.  BYJO'S  BOARDER 198 

XV.  SHE  OF  THE  WHIP-HAND 208 

XVI.  MRS.  PROUTY  or  PROUTY'S  NECK 219 

XVII.  SKIPPER'S  WIFE  AND  RHODY 234 

XVIII.  THB  AUCTION       244 

XIX.  JACOB  THAWLES  BREAKS  AWAY 261 

XX.  SIDE-SADDLING  THE  Loo 272 

XXI.  THE  TEST 282 

XXII.   "  HK  Wiu.  STAND" 295 


8  CONTENTS 

CIIAPTKR  FACE 

XXIII.  THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  EXPOSITION 3O6 

XXIV.  SEA  Gn.i.3  EMBRACE 3«3 

XXV.  SCARECROW  AS  COMFORTER 330 

XXVI.   "As  FAR  AS  HEAVEN" 4*3 

XXVII.  THE  "WRASTLE"  BY  THE  RIVER 351 

XXVIII.   THE  STEEP  WAY 36* 

XXIX.  Mas.  BYJO  KISSES  HER  BOARDER  .......  369 

XXX.  ALL  IN  WHITE 376 

XXXI.   POWER  Lor,  GOD  HEU-  Us                                           .  390 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


SKIPPER  STOOD  ix  THE  TALL  GRASS  IN  HER 

FLOWER  GARDEN Frontispiece 

"STOP  YOUR  CART,"  GASPED  ROB,  "I'M  COLD — I  FACING  PAGE 

WANT  TO  WALK  " 36 

"  How  CAN  You  TURN  YOUR  BACK  ON  THAT  VIEW  ?"  1 16 

"WHO  WANTS  A  HAPPY,  CHEERFUL,  TICKLE- YER- 

RIBS,  CONSOLIN'  PAIR  'o  RUBBERS?"  .     .  252 

"PROMISE,"  I  SAID,  STRIDING  TOWARD  HER    .     ,  328 


POWER    LOT 


CHAPTER    I 

A    MESSAGE 

THE  Almighty — up  at  Power  Lot — looks  as  though  He 
had  at  last  all  kinds  of  material  to  work  with ;  infinite 
ocean,  broad  basin,  mad  river,  far  heights,  and  sharp 
valleys,  bowlders  that  make  you  catch  your  breath,  and 
green  pastures  that  lie  sound  asleep — all  kinds  of  such 
business  the  Almighty  has  at  Power  Lot.  And  so  much 
of  it !  Looks  as  though  He  laughed  to  Himself  at  last 
for  the  room  there  was,  and  tossed  creation  about  helter- 
skelter  and  gigantic  free. 

I  remember  an  artist  who  came  there  once,  who 
seemed  to  think  that  it  was  all  arranged. 

"  See  that  touch  to  the  middle  distance,"  he'd  say ; 
"  watch  that  class  of  shadows ;  observe  that  symphony 
of  hill  and  vale." 

But  I,  being  no  artist,  sucked  in  my  sense  of  it  first 
hand;  and,  as  I  say,  it  looked  to  me  as  though  the  Al- 
mighty, having  leaned  from  His  solitudes  to  a  long  view 
of  the  cities  somewhere  and  feeling  stifled  on  those  con- 
traptions of  walls  and  petty  man-made  ways,  had  turned 
back  with  an  awful  joy  and  had  His  rampage  with  our 
landscape  there  at  Power  Lot.  I  don't  mean  anything 
irreverent  either.  A  God- Almighty  rampage  with  the 
landscape  is  something  to  make  a  man  bow  the  knee. 

POWER  LOT,  GOD  HELP  US,— that  was  the  com- 


10  PONVKll    LOT 

plete  name  of  our  place;  worse  tlmn  Na/areth,  you  see. 
Yes,  outsiders  speaking  of  us  said  with  meaning,  "  He 
lives  over  to  Power  Lot,  God  help  us,"  or,  "  It  hap- 
pened at  Power  Lot,  God  help  us.*'  It  may  have  been 
because  it  was  so  hard  to  get  up  to  us  there  by  the 
steep  way ;  it  may  have  been  by  reason  of  our  poverty 
or  our  ignorance,  but  with  our  name  was  ever  attached 
this  invocation  for  supernal  aid. 

So  out  of  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  came  patient  toil- 
ers by  land  and  sea  as  well  as  vagabonds  and  ne'er-do- 
wells  .with  a  taste  for  wandering,  ambitionless  resigned 
women,  runaway  boys  and  girls ;  and  out  of  Power  Lot, 
God  Help  Us,  came  Mary  Stingaree. 

Well  named !  There  was  a  sting  to  Mary,  for  me,  at 
least;  a  sting  I  carry  with  me  so  long  as  I  journey  over 
this  firmament  in  the  garment  of  the  flesh.  I  am  not 
with  Mary's  sort  of  people  now ;  she  got  far  beyond 
me  in  a  way.  But  somehow  I've  made  up  my  mind  it's 
a  healthy  sting.  It's  better,  I  reckon,  to  make  your  try 
at  being  a  man  than  to  win  your  sweet  desire.  So  Mury 
stung  me,  and  stings  me  ever. 

A  little,  sulky-mouthed,  broad-browed,  black-haired 
girl  was  Mary  Stingaree.  Distrustful,  sulky-mouthed 
— that  came  from  old  Bate  Stingaree,  drunkard,  de- 
ceased. 

Down  to  school  at  Bear  River  we  went  together, 
Mary  and  I.  I  was  in  her  class  then.  Of  course  the 
Bear  River  children  derided  us,  coming  from  Power 
Lot,  God  Help  Us. 

'Way  back  from  somewhere  Mary  had  inherited  a 
steady,  never-failing  gristmill  of  brains,  and  a  singing 
voice  like  a  soul  quit  of  the  flesh.  Bear  River  was  poor 


A    MESSAGE  11 

in  musical  talent,  so  they  let  Mary  in  to  the  Baptist 
church  to  take  part  in  a  Sunday  school  exhibition.  She 
sang:  there  were  some  tourists  stopping  at  Bear  River, 
and  they  applauded  for  delight,  clapping  their  hands. 
Mary  thought  she  was  being  derided  again,  the  troubled 
little  soul  from  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  and  she  went 
out  weeping  bitterly. 

But  the  gristmill  of  brains  kept  a  steadily  revolving 
wheel.  From  Bear  River  district  school  to  the  distant 
academy  at  Wolfdale  Mary  worked  her  way.  She  came 
home  on  a  vacation,  fourteen  years  old  now  and  grave 
as  a  woman. 

"  May  I  ?ee  you  to  evening  meet'n',  Mary?  "  said  I. 
By  this  time  she  was  sort  of  dissociated  in  everybody's 
mind  from  Power  Lot,  and  had  been  admitted  to  the 
Bear  River  Baptist  Church  under  deep  religious  con- 
viction and  a  presumption  of  actual  social  equality.  I 
sneaked  along  in  the  wake  of  her  material  welfare, 
wondering.  Spiritually,  she  was  lost  to  me. 

"  May  I  see  you  to  evening  meet'n',  Mary?  "  said  I, 
waylaying  her  at  the  bridge. 

"  I'll  go  back  and  ask  Mother,"  said  she. 

I  waited  at  the  bridge.     She  came  back,  stepping 
demurely.     "  Mother  says  *  Yes,'  Jim." 

I  was  nineteen,  of  a  long  line  of  toiling  progenitors 
not  much  vexed  by  brains.  I  stood  in  awe  of  the  book- 
ish little  maiden.  This  would  be  a  great  woman ;  I 
would  put  in  my  plea  early,  would  begin  courting  al- 
ready. I  knew  a  bit  of  rustic  etiquette  in  that  line. 

*'  Will  you  take  my  arm,  Mary  ?  "  I  said. 

She  blushed  deeply,  religiously. 

"I   couldn't   do   that,   Jim,"   she   said.      "It   would 


12  POWER    LOT 

mean  too  much — it  would  be  too  intimate,"  said  the 
bookish  little  maiden.  "  But  I  will  take  your  hand, 
Jim." 

So,  hand  clasped  in  hand,  we  went  to  the  evening 
meeting  at  Bear  River.  Very  proper  and  formal  that 
may  have  seemed  to  wise  little  Mary  Stingaree,  but  to 
me,  it  was  vastly  tender.  Her  slender  hand  nestled  in 
my  broad  one — I  can  feel  it  still.  And  I  would  have 
been  content  if  the  road  from  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us, 
to  Bear  River  had  wound  on  and  on  through  this  mortal 
lifetime.  That  brief  hour  was  my  portion.  Mary's 
ideas  of  convention  changed. 

The  gristmill  of  brains  kept  steadily  turning.  From 
academy  to  provincial  college  Mary  worked  her  way ; 
then  across  the  water  to  the  highest  seat  of  learning  in 
the  States;  then  a  post-graduate  course  and  a  degree; 
and  then,  by  reason  of  her  marked  ability,  a  position 
of  distinction  at  the  head  of  a  seminary. 

Just  at  that  climax  of  her  toiling  ambition  old  Bate 
Stingaree  fell  in  a  drunken  fit  and  broke  his  neck.  A 
flock  of  evil  crows  swooped  down  over  the  Stingaree 
fortunes.  The  mother,  half-paralyzed,  took  to  her  bed. 
The  younger  brother,  a  clean,  straight  fellow,  went 
down  with  his  fishing  boat  in  a  hurricane  off  the  Gut. 
The  older  brother,  dissolute  like  his  father,  had  lost 
his  position  in  a  cloth  manufactory  in  the  States  and 
came  home  in  rags.  Mary  was  sent  for  and  took  leave 
of  absence  to  come  home  to  her  father's  funeral. 

It  was  the  solemn  desolation  of  winter  there  by  the 
hills  and  gorges  and  the  pounding,  seething  shores  that 
lay  off  in  view  of  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us.  The  wind 
swept  with  endless  moan  through  the  cypress  forests. 


A    MESSAGE  13 

When  Mary  saw  how  it  was  with  her  people  at  home 
her  eyes  for  a  moment  had  that  very  look  of  the  world 
without,  just  that  look  as  of  bleak  gorges  and  the  pas- 
sion of  the  waves  surging  back,  moaning  and  thwarted, 
from  the  shore.  Then  her  lips  took  on  the  strength  of 
the  hills  and  their  quiet,  too.  She  had  grown  tall  and 
straight.  She  was  more  than  beautiful;  she  was  what 
my  soul  had  prophesied:  she  was  a  great  woman. 

"  Jim,"  she  said  to  me,  "  you  are  one  of  that  fated 
kind  of  whom  it  is  easy  to  ask  things,  of  whom  one  is 
always  morally  sure  that  no  request  will  be  refused. 
You  have  not  reformed,  like  the  rest  of  us.  You  have 
not  had  advantages." 

There  was  an  elf  in  her  black  eyes  that  might  have 
been  wicked,  I  had  sometimes  thought,  except  for 
stern  schooling  and  the  quiet  habit  of  the  big  strong 
mouth.  She  smiled  at  me. 

"  I  have  read  all  the  books  you  sent  me,  Mary,"  I 
replied,  "  three  times  over.  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  done  without  them.  I've  been  waiting  to 
thank " 

"  No,"  she  interrupted  me  meditatively,  "  you  have 
not  reformed.  I  don't  believe  you  ever  will.  You  have 
not  had  advantages." 

I  could  almost  have  sworn  that  she  was  fond  of  me. 
But  it  was  in  a  way  too  high  for  me  to  take  any  notice 
of.  I  understood  that.  The  kindness  in  her  eyes  was 
hard  to  bear.  It  was  the  sort  to  lure  a  child  or  a  big, 
trusty  Newfoundland.  But  first  and  last  I  adored  her, 
and  I  stood  confused  to  all  except  that  she  was  near 
me,  looking  at  me,  and  that  I  was  ready  to  do  her 
bidding. 


14  POWER    LOT 

"  The  sea  is  rough — cruel  and  rough — to-day,  Jim," 
she  said,  **  and  there  would  be  danger  out  there  to-day, 
even  to  the  staunchest  little  fishing  vessel,  managed  by 
the  most  skillful  hand  that  ever  was? — danger  even  to 
Jim  Turbine?  " 

I  laughed.  "  You  used  to  know  better  about  the 
sea  and  the  weather.  Your  advantages  have  left  her 
out,"  I  added,  with  a  jealous  eye  to  the  spars  of  my 
boat,  rocking  down  there  under  the  ledge. 

"  And  I'm  selfish,"  she  went  on.  "  My  one  spar  of 
hope  up  here  would  be — Jim  Turbine.  And  I  don't 
see,"  she  went  on,  drearily,  half-dreamily,  looking 
toward  the  water,  "  how  anyone  of  mortal  frailty  could 
trust  himself  to-day  out  on  that  heaving,  tigerish  waste 
of  waters  and — live." 

"  You  used  to  love  the  sea,  Mary." 

"  I  used  to  love  " — some  bitterness  curled  her  lip — 
"  many  things.  Now,  what  I  have  to  do  is  to  send  a 
message,  Jim.  And  if  possible  it  should  be  sent  at 
once.  A  message  by  wire  from  the  station  over  at 
Waldeck.  But  it  may  be  softer  weather  to-morrow." 

"  You've  remembered  what  we  say,  here,  about  the 
weather  being  '  soft '  sometimes,"  I  answered  grate- 
fully. "  But  it  is  soft,  for  winter,  Mary — right  down 
soft;  it  won't  be  any  softer  for  weeks.  A  boat's  easy 
managed  out  there,  if  you  know  how."  I  laughed 
again.  I  had  no  fear,  even  of  taking  Mary  over  to 
Waldeck.  The  sea  was  not  running  either  stormy  or 
strong,  to  my  way  of  thinking. 

"  Will  you  take  my  message  over,  then?  " 

"  You — wouldn't  have  to  go?  " 

"  No."    She  smiled.    "  I  could  write  it  down,  and  you 


A    MESSAGE  15 

could  take  it.  And  I  " — she  added  gravely — "  should 
always  be  in  your  debt  for  a  very,  very  great  kindness." 

"  You  get  it  ready,  Mary,"  I  said,  blusteringly,  for 
I  was  disappointed  and  chagrined.  A  telegram  had 
been  to  my  mind  a  sort  of  rite  which  demanded  per- 
sonal supervision.  "  You  go  and  get  it  ready  right 
now,  and  I'll  take  it  over." 

"My  good — brother — Jim,"  she  said,  with  eloquent 
eyes ;  and  with  that  I  had  to  make  myself  content,  just 
a  good  brother  waiting  there  to  go  out  and  cross  the 
winter  bay  for  her,  who  was  no  sister  to  me,  but  so 
much  my  heart's  desire  that  every  sense  of  my  body 
ached  stupidly.  Then  I  got  to  thinking  of  her,  and 
what  the  message  probably  was.  I  knew,  before  she 
came  back  to  me  with  it, — a  folded  slip  of  paper  that 
I  buttoned  up  in  my  inner  pocket.  Then  I  hesitated. 

"  It  isn't  sealed  orders,  to  me,"  I  said.  "  I — I'm 
afraid  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  do." 

"  Well?  " 

"  You  are  going — to  give  up  your  position — that 
you've  been  working  for — all  these  years." 

Her  face  was  pale  and  set,  but  she  kept  her  pleasant 
humor.  "  You  are  a  wizard,  Jim.  You  have  something 
far  and  away  beyond  advantages :  you  can  read  writing 
up  a  flight  of  stairs  and  behind  doors.  You " 

"  Yes,  I  can,"  I  said.  '*  I  can  read  it  all  right  every 
time.  But  you  just  stop  and  think,  Mary.  Some  other 
woman  could  manage  this  miserable  business  here.  But 
you!  Good  Lord !  " 

"  It's  my  mother  and  my  brother,  Jim.  It's  my 
mother.  I  have  '  thought,'  never  fear.  I  have  made 
up  my  mind.  Say  no  more  about  it." 


16  POWER    LOT 

"  You  ain't  fit  for  it.  You're  fit  for  the  place  you've 
been  filling  back  there.  You've  no  right  to  go  and 
knock  it  all  over.  It's — it's  burying  yourself  alive." 

She  put  her  hand  lightly  on  my  rough  coat,  but 
somehow  it  impelled  me  toward  the  door.  She  smiled 
again  in  that  moment  as  we  stood  looking  off  from  the 
heights  of  Power  Lot. 

"  '  Buried  alive,'  "  she  repeated,  her  lip  twitching ; 
"  this  is  more  like  a  vantage  ground  for  ascension. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Jim?  " 

"  All  right,  you  can  smile,  now.  It  will  kill  you  inch 
by  inch,  though,  as  you  go  on.  It  will  break  your 
heart.  You've  got  used  to  such  different  things — and 
the  ambition  of  you — my  Lord !  And  you've  changed. 
Why,  when  I  first  saw  you  I  thought  I'd  have  to  say 
*  Miss  Stingaree.'  I  think  so  now  half  the  time  when  I 
look  at  you." 

"  '  Miss  Stingaree '  would  forsake  this  and  go  back 
to  her  business?  " 

"  Yes,  and  she'd  have  a  good  right  to  do  it." 

"  What  would  *  Mary  '  do,  according  to  what  you 
remember  of  her?  " 

She  was  looking  at  me  so  intensely  she  seemed  to  for- 
get that  my  big  body  was  there  covering  my  soul.  She 
fished  up  my  soul  and  I  had  to  see  it  the  way  it  was. 
And  I  had  to  speak,  too,  and  speak  quick. 

"  Oh,  d— n,"  I  swore,  "  she'd  'a'  stayed." 

"There's  so  much  of  'Mary'  left  in  me  that  it 
bothers  me,  Jim,"  she  said,  in  her  whimsical  way,  but 
I  thought  there  was  a  dash  of  honest  fretfulness  in  it. 
"  Mother — clings  to  me.  And  Bate — the  case  is  des- 
perate altogether.  It  seems  to  demand  someone  of  their 


A    MESSAGE  17 

own,  who  is  bound  by  duty,  and  who  understands  and 
can  have  patience.  I  tried  to  think  it  was  common 
sense  to  go.  I  could  earn  money  for  them  back  there, 
— but  I  can't  go.  And  when  you  can't  go  there's  no  way 
but  to  stay.  I  thought  you  would  have  been  glad  to 
have  me  stay." 

"  I  reckon,  I  was  a-thinkin'  of  you." 

"  Perhaps  you  were.  You  used  to  have  a  habit,  quite 
strong,  of  letting  your  thoughts  go  moonshining  about 
in  the  interests  of  other  people.  I  dare  say  it  has 
grown  upon  you,  as  bad  habits  do." 

It  isn't  any  fun  to  have  eyes  like  Mary  Stingaree's 
caressing  of  you,  when  it's  all  got  to  stop  there,  and 
your  part  is  just  to  plod  out  the  path  of  the  good 
brother.  I  stepped  outside  for  a  bluff,  as  though  I  was 
sick  of  the  house  air  and  wanted  to  make  off. 

"  Well,  I'll  take  your  message  over,"  says  I. 
"  There's  a  Hand  at  the  helium  somewhere,"  says  I. 
"  I  reckon  on  finding  that  out  for  sure  some  day. 
Meanwhile  I'm  steerin'  the  best  I  know,  in  the  dark. 
But  you  take  it  from  me,  that  it's  plumb  in  the 
dark." 

«  I  won't  forget  that  it's  dark,  Jim." 

My  head  cleared  when  I  got  out  on  the  bay,  and 
steering  was  all  the  business  in  hand  for  me.  I  let  it 
go, — that  about  Mary;  the  mystery  of  it.  A  great, 
faithful  ambition,  to  reach  its  hill-height,  and  then  get 
knocked  in  the  head  and  stunned  in  the  heart  like  I 
knew  the  case  was  with  Mary. 

So  many  books  she  had  sent  to  me,  to  try  to  lead  me 
on  a  bit.  But  I  couldn't  remember  much  to  the  point 
in  them  to  help  just  now,  except  what  an  old  blind  man 


18  POWER    LOT 

who  sold  his  writings  for  a  few  pounds  said  once, — to 
"  Steer  right  on." 

Sailor  or  landsman,  he  had  the  trick.  And,  con- 
sidering the  circumstances,  his  words  sang  down  to 
me  carrying  mighty  weight  with  them, 

"  Nor  bate  one  jot  of  heart  or  hope, 
But  steer  right  on." 

That  old  blind  man,  working  away  for  little  or  noth- 
ing, either  of  love  or  money  or  appreciation,  he  got  the 
whole  voyage  down  on  his  chart  in  just  those  twelve 
words. 


CHAPTER    II 

WITHOUT    HIS    LATCHKEY 

SOME  time  later  it  was  my  business  to  sail  a  person  by 
the  name  of  Mr.  Robert  Hilton  over  from  Waldeck  to 
Power  Lot. 

He  was  a  big,  -tall,  handsome,  stylish  fellow,  and  he 
recognized  me  as  the  person  who  had  come  to  meet  him 
with  a  grin  that  sort  of  mellowed  my  heart  toward  him 
in  spite  of  all  I  had  heard  about  him. 

"  Cap'n  Turbine,  ain't  it?  "  he  inquired  politely  and 
solicitously — "  Cap'n  Jim  Turbine?  " 

"  Sure." 

I  got  him  and  his  luggage  aboard.  The  boat  lay 
over  to  a  stiff  wind  and  pelted  along  on  her  side.  My 
passenger  hunched  up  his  richly  fur-coated  frame  as 
a  shield  against  the  wind  and  attempted  to  light  a 
cigarette.  Any  number  of  times  he  was  baffled  by  the 
rude  force  of  the  elements,  but  he  showed  a  hopeful 
persistence.  Patience,  too,  and '  a  gentlemanly  and 
modified  use  of  cuss  words.  "  Holy  thunder !  "  he  ex- 
claimed once,  as  a  blast  tipped  his  hat  aside  and 
whistled  in  his  ears.  But  he  only  grinned  appreciatively 
at  me  as  the  bit  of  paper  clinched  between  his  lips  went 
out  in  blackness  again.  He  fumbled  meditatively  in  his 
vest  pocket  in  a  vague  searching  for  something  that 
was  not  there. 

19 


20  POWER    LOT 

"  Gad !  they've  cribbed  my  latchkey  too,  blame  take 
'em !  "  he  said  with  reproachful  sorrow. 

He  could  talk  pretty  straight,  though  there  was  an 
atmosphere  about  him  as  of  one  pickled,  and  quite  long 
pickled,  with  grog,  and  as  if  he  had,  moreover,  taken  a 
fresh  exhaustive  turn  at  the  fountain  just  before  em- 
barking. 

"  What  is  there  in  it,  up  here  on  this  blame  Peary 
exp'dition,  huntin'  up  'xplorers'  remains  'round  the 
north  pole,  to  reform  me,  eh? "  he  inquired  confi- 
dentially. 

"  Say,  you  better  ask  me  something  easier,"  said  I. 

"  So  I  will,"  he  responded  obediently.  "  I'm  from 
New  York,  Cap'n  Turbine — been  four  days  an'  nights 
by  rail  gettin'  to  that  little  station  back  there — didn't 
know  there  was  such  a  place  as  this  within  four  days 
o'  New  York — never  dreamed  o'  such  a  thing — very 
fine  country,  Cap'n — very  fine  sea  view  scenery — hie — 
said  he,  humping  himself  down  in  complete  oblivion  of 
the  ocean  sublimities  spread  wide  before  him — "  but 
New  York's  a  great  place  too,  Cap'n  Turbine — great 
place,  New  York." 

"You  wish  you  were  back  there  right  now,  don't 
you?  "  I  called  to  him  cheerfully,  for  after  all  there 
was  something  pretty  brave  about  him. 

"  I  do,"  said  he,  solemnly  and  confidingly,  reaching 
out  his  hand  to  me.  "  I  do,  Cap'n." 

He  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  laying  himself  by  for  a 
prolonged  nap,  so  I  tried  a  bracer  of  a  question  on  him. 
I  didn't  want,  just  for  his  own  sake,  to  bring  him  into 
port  like  so  much  sack-goods. 

"  Say,  are  you  a  specimen  of  New  York  young  men 


WITHOUT    HIS    LATCHKEY  21 

generally  ?  "  I  shouted  at  him  through  the  wind.  "  Hear 
what  I  say?" 

His  eyes  glinted,  like  the  eyes  of  a  gentleman  who 
condones  ill  behavior  from  one  naturally  boorish  and 
benighted. 

"  I  am  not,"  he  said. 

"  Still,"  said  I,  shouting  another  bracer  at  him,  "  I 
guess  you  had  company  enough  so  as  you  didn't  get 
lonesome,  eh?  " 

He  ignored  me  for  the  thoughts  of  the  past  that 
swept  over  him.  They  were  plain  to  see  on  his  face, 
and  brought  a  pang  that  righted  him  a  bit.  His  face 
was  sadder  to  see  in  that  haggard  despair  because  its 
natural  expression  was  as  sunny  as  any  ever  I've  seen 
in  this  vale  of  tears.  So  I  watched  that  suddenly  old, 
sad  face,  wishing  that  I  had  a  morsel  by  way  of  comfort 
for  him  and  knowing  all  the  time  that  what  he  needed,  if 
he  was  going  to  come  into  port  on  his  legs,  was  a  bracer, 
and  still  a  bracer,  and  again  a  bracer. 

"  Wake  up  ! "  I  called.  "  Can't  you  answer  a  man's 
question?  " 

Deliberately  he  lifted  his  head  that  had  been  bowed 
on  his  hands,  and  his  blue  eyes  still  condoned  me  and  my 
ignorant  offenses  of  speech  and  manner.  He  smiled  at 
me  kindly,  pathetically. 

"  Jim — Cap'n  Turbine,"  said  he,  "  I've  had  too  much 
latchkey,  firs'  an'  las',  un'stan'?  I  say,"  he  repeated 
impressively,  pointing  his  finger  at  me, — "  do  you  un'- 
erstan'  that  remark?" 

He  had  taken  command  of  the  whole  situation  with 
his  fixed  gaze  and  uplifted  finger,  and  I  thought  it  best 
to  let  him  stay  on  top  and  get  interested  if  he  could. 


22  POWER    LOT 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  replied  meekly,  "  I  understand." 

"  I  had  two  f rien's — always  with  me — us  three — 
always  together — we  three — same  size  as  me — same  age 
as  I — fine  boys — great  boys,  Dick  an'  Charlie, — an' 
they're  dead,  Jim.  So  young,  both  of  'em,  all  of  us, — 
an'  they're  gone,  Jim. — Too  much  latchkey" 

"  Swallow  'em  ?  "  I  asked,  looking  at  him  eagerly, 
with  open  mouth. 

He  shook  his  head,  smiling  sickly,  but  the  necessity 
of  superintending  my  ignorance  on  toward  some  light 
kept  him  awake,  and  he  straightened  himself  with  a  des- 
perate effort. 

"  Let  me  'xplain  to  you,  Jim,"  said  he,  renewing  his 
solemn  gaze.  When  I  was  a  little  shaver,  my  father 
said  to  me,  *  Rob,  when  you're  sixteen  years  old  you 
shall  have  latchkey  too,'  he  said.  Latchkey — son 
of  millionaire — New  York  City — means — hie — pretty 
good  time.  Not  swallowin'  latchkey,  no,  Jim — but 
havin'  pretty  good  time." 

"  Couldn't  you  V  used  it  decent?  " 

"  I  could,  Jim,"  said  my  informer,  still  in  his  supe- 
rior monitory  fashion,  "  but  I  didn't." 

I  knew  his  story  already.  I  was  not  taking  him  off 
his  guard,  but  I'd  got  to  keep  him  awake  telling  it, 
himself. 

Tears  had  come  to  his  eyes  at  the  thought  of 
"  Dick  and  Charlie,"  and  in  speaking  his  father's  name. 
Above  all  just  now  he  felt  that  he  had  to  overcome 
my  ignorance  and  stupidity,  and  he  nerved  himself 
heroically  for  the  task. 

"  Lis'n,  Jim  !  Latchkey — New  York — feller  like  me 
— father,  mother,  dead, — big  house — all  your  own  way 


WITHOUT    HIS    LATCHKEY  23 

— nice  fellers  for  your  frien's — means — hie — means — 
two  o'clock  in  the  mornin',  Jim." 

He  smiled  indulgently,  and  gave  evidences  of  sinking 
off  into  repose. 

"  Now,  you  listen,"  I  cried,  "  you  listen  to  me!  " 

His  look  of  supreme  forbearance  changed  to  an  ugly 
darkening  of  the  eyes  as  I  went  on ;  but  he  grew  alert. 

"  One  fine  day  " — I  shouted  at  him  from  the  helm, 
through  the  roar  of  wind  and  wave — "  one  fine  day, 
about  noon,  as  usual,  you  were  stretching  and  yawning 
on  your  soft  bed  preliminary  to  getting  up,  but  when 
you  tried  to  get  up  you  found  you  couldn't.  You 
found  your  legs  wouldn't  hold  you.  That  was  a  beauti- 
ful room  where  you  lay  staring  for  a  minute  straight 
at  the  ceiling,  with  your  heart  broken,  and  no  wonder, 
poor  lad;  but  you're  all  right  again  now  and  as  fine 
built  a  fellow  as  ever  sat  slobbering  tipsy  as  a  fool  in 
an  honest  man's  boat.  But  say,  that  was  a  beautiful 
room  you  had  back  there  in  your  brown  stone  house; 
you  had  that  room  frescoed  to  suit  yourself,  peaches 
and  grape  vines  and  bunches  o'  grapes  and  baskets  o' 
grapes  an'  bacchanalian  figgers  flyin'  all  around  the 
walls  an5  ceilings " 

"  How  in  thunder,  you  clodhopper,"  he  bawled  back 
at  me,  in  angry  scorn,  "  do  you  know  anything  about 
frescoes  an'  '  bacchanalian  figures  '  ?  " 

"  I  got  an  example  right  before  me,"  I  calls. 

"  Call  this  bacchanalian  'round  here?  "  he  snorted. 
"  I  call  it  wild  and  cold  as  hell." 

"  Call  it  what  you  like,"  I  challenged  him.  "  I'm 
going  on  with  my  story.  I'm  a  wizard.  You  didn't 
know  that?  Well,  you  listen.  This  fine  fellow  in  this 


24  POWER    LOT 

beautiful  room,  he  touches  a  button  at  the  head  of  his 
bed,  and  a  man-servant  comes  in,  and  he  sends  him  for 
the  family  doctor.  That  doctor,  that  cared  for  his 
father  and  mother,  has  grown  to  be  one  of  the  most 
famous  medical  men  in  that  big  city,  in  the  world  for 
that  matter,  and  he  takes  a  special  interest  in  this  young 
fellow,  by  reason  of  having  known  and  loved  his  father ; 
and  he  works  over  him  and  stands  by  him,  giving  him 
the  most  patient,  skillful  medical  aid  in  the  land  for 
weeks  together,  until  this  young  fellow  can  walk  again. 
Is  there  anything  familiar  in  this  narration?" 

"  If  you  weren't  such  a  boor,  I'd  knock  you  down," 
said  he,  nostrils  quivering  and  eyes  a-glowing  black  by 
this  time.  "  People  that  know  anything — don't  deal  in 
personalities." 

"  I'm  nothin'  but  a  fly-away  wizard  of  the  north,"  I 
responded.  "  Just  hear  me.  This  young  fellow  could 
walk  again.  But  this  good  doctor  says  to  him,  *  Rob, — 
whisky  and  brandy  and  rum  and  champagne  and 
cigarettes  have  got  to  be  dropped,'  says  he,  '  and  you're 
young,  only  twenty-five,  your  constitution  '11  bring 
you  out  of  this  for  good  and  all.  But,  go  back  to 
whisky  and  brandy  and  rum  and  champagne  and  cigar- 
ettes, the  way  you  been  a-doin' ,'  says  he,  '  and  you'll 
get  foundered  again,  and  next  time,  neither  I  nor  any 
other  doctor  '11  be  able  to  bring  you  out  of  it,'  says  he. 
Now,  Mr.  Hilton,  did  I  hear  that  doctor's  warnin' 
aright  as  I  went  flyin'  past  on  my  broomstick?  " 

"D — n  you!"  says  Rob,  gritting  his  teeth,  "if 
you  weren't  a  hairy  wild  man  that  never  smelled  civ- 
ilization  ' 

"  You  pause  on  interruptin'  me,"  I  roared,  "  or  I'll 


WITHOUT    HIS    LATCHKEY  25 

wipe  the  deck  with  ye.  Now  I  got  a  question  to  ask 
ye.  Did  that  young  man  quit,  the  way  the  doctor  told 
him?  Did  he?  Anybody  but  a  lunatic  or  a  coward 
would  'a5  quit.  Now,  did  he  quit?  " 

I  had  my  man  on  his  feet  at  last.  The  boat  leaped 
to  another  wave,  and  he  staggered  and  lunged  over  and 
sat,  sick  and  quiet,  huddled  in  a  heap  again. 

"  You  listenin'  to  the  magician  ? "  I  called.  He 
roused  himself,  and  his  angry  eyes  met  mine  with  sullen 
hate  and  contempt.  If  I  could  keep  him  interested  a 
while  longer  I  believed  that  I  could  bring  him  into  port 
on  his  legs. 

"  No,  no,  he  didn't  quit,"  says  I,  loud.  There  was 
nobody  but  Rob  and  the  sea  to  hear.  "  Oh,  no,  he 
didn't  quit.  He  sat  on  the  fence  for  a  day  or  two,  then 
he  went  at  it  again, — whisky  and  brandy  and  rum  and 
champagne  and  cigarettes, — and  all  his  other  nice 
habits.  He  went  into  'em  again  as  hearty  and  devoted 
as  a  hog  to  its  trough.  Lord,  I  couldn't  help  crying 
myself  as  I  swep'  past  on  my  broomstick.  He  was  such 
a  handsome  fellow.  In  shape  and  feature  the  Lord  had 
made  him  for  the  heavenly  hosts — and  all  he  wanted  was 
a  pig  sty !  Such  a  generous,  patient,  fine  fellow — a  gen- 
tleman. What  wouldn't  I  give  if  I  could  'a'  had  his 
training?  Lord,  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  I'd  'a'  thrown 
it  all  away." 

I  was  feeling  what  I  said  pretty  deep,  and  I  set  my 
face  to  the  helm.  Rob  was  silent  for  some  minutes.  I 
did  not  look  his  way,  but  I  knew  he  was  awake,  study- 
ing me. 

"  Cap'n — "  he  cleared  his  throat  at  last — "  Cap'n 
Turbine?" 


26  POWER    LOT 

"Well?" 

"  Any  fellow  that  says  you're  not  a  gentleman  '11  get 
the  size  o'  my  fist.  But  look  here,  Cap'n." 

"Well?" 

"Who  told  you  all  that?" 

"  I  guess  a  gentleman  wouldn't  tell,  would  he?  " 

"No!  Fact!  He  wouldn't  tell.  Don't  you  think, 
though,  it  was  a  dirty  trick,  when  I  was  packed  off 
here  to  get  me  away  from  the  past,  to  go  and  send 
all  the  details  of  a  fellow's  record  on  ahead  of 
him?" 

"  Nobody  knows  it,  and  nobody's  going  to  know  it, 
but  Mary  and  me.  You  can  trust  Mary  and  you  can 
trust  me." 

"Your  wife,  Jim?" 

"  Lord !  "  said  I,  and  I  felt  my  face  burning  sum- 
mer, though  it  was  March  out  there  on  the  bay. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Jim." 

"  She's  not  my  wife,  and  she's  not  my  sweetheart. 
She's  a  top-notcher — way  beyond  me.  She's  one  o' 
your  sort,  by  education  and  by  nature,  though  she  was 
born  up  to  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us." 

"  I  haven't  any  education,  Jim.  I  shirked  all  that. 
I've  been  at  the  pig-trough,  as  you  say.  Haven't  even 
gone  in  for  athletics.  Travel — New  York — wherever 
I  was — I  was  mostly  with  my  nose  in  the  trough  all 
the  time,  Jim.  So,  'ceptin'  you — and  *  Mary  ' — they 
won't  know  about  it  there  where  I'm  goin'?  " 

«  No." 

"  When  you  were  flyin'  along  on  your  broomstick  " — 
he  smiled  appreciatively ;  he  seemed  to  have  a  mortal 
weakness  for  relapsing  into  good  nature — "  did  they 


WITHOUT    HIS    LATCHKEY  27 

tell  you  how  they  worked  it  to  get  me  off  here,  this — 
hie — hie — unseason'ble  time  o'  year?  " 

"Something.     Yes." 

"  Said  my  money — said  my  fortune  was  in  temp'rary 
— anyway — 'clipse — hie — eclipse,  and  I  got  to  go  to 
work  to  earn  my  bread.  You  believe  that  d — n  rot?  " 

"  I  believe  you've  got  to  go  to  work  if  you  have  any- 
thing to  eat.  Yes." 

"  Do — you — believe  " — said  he,  transfixing  me  with 
his  solemn  look  and  monitory  finger  again — "  that  my 
fortune's  gone  into  'clipse?  " 

"  It  looks  to  me  as  though  you  were  in  as  desperate 
a  fix  as  I  ever  saw  a  fellow,"  said  I. 

He  regarded  me  mournfully,  like  a  child  unconvinced 
but  despairing  of  candor  in  his  subjects. 

"  It  looks  t'  me,"  said  he,  "  as  though  they  took 
'vantage  of  a  feller's  c'ndition  to  play  nasty  joke  on 
'im — doctor — lawyer — business  man'ger — all.  But  I 
ain't  dead  yet,  Jim.  I'll  put  'em  where  they  b'long." 

It  was  running  in  my  head  what  I  had  heard — the 
doctor  said  that  it  was  a  case  for  surgery,  of  cutting 
Rob  off  from  his  income,  his  associates,  and  his  latch- 
key ;  that  decrepitude  and  death  lay  quickly  waiting 
for  him  along  the  old  lines,  premature  paralysis  and 
untimely  death ;  that  his  one  and  only  chance  for  man- 
hood and  life  itself  lay  in  the  application  of  heroic  treat- 
ment ;  lay,  in  fact,  in  poverty,  deprivation,  hardship, 
work.  I  understood  that,  when — and  if — he  got  the 
fiber  of  a  man  again  physically  and  morally  his  worldly 
fortune  would  be  waiting  for  him,  only  augmented  by 
this  interregnum  in  his  spendthrift  pleasures.  Still  he 
kept  awake.  He  was  studying  me  narrowly. 


28  POWER    LOT 

"You  seem  to  know  everything.  Why  tlidn'  they 
send  me  'broad  again  like  a  Christian,  'stead  o'  up  here 
*o  t.he  end  o'  Nowhere?  " 

More  bracing  for  labor  here." 

**  How'd  they  come  to  know  o'  this  glash — glashial 
resort?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  Mary  Stingaree  had  a  classmate  that 
was  the  daughter  of  this  doctor  o'  yours.  She  set  the 
world  and  all  by  Mary,  got  her  to  go  home  with  her 
vacations.  So  the  doctor  got  acquainted  with  her  too ; 
and  that's  how  he  arranged  for  you  to  rent  some  o'  the 
Stingaree  farm  so  as  you  could  earn  your  living." 

Rob  leaned  over  and  laughed  feebly. 

"  Jim,"  said  he,  "  how  c'n  you  keep  your  ol'  hearse  of 
a  face  straight?  That's  what  s'prises  me.  *  The  worl' 
's  a  stage,  an'  all  the  men  an'  women  merely  players. 

They  have  their  ex — hie — exi's  an'  their '    Blame 

'em !  "  he  suddenly  cried  out — "  they  might  't  least  'a' 
sent  my  man  along  with  me." 

"Your  man?" 

"My  valet,  d— n  it!" 

"  Oh,  it'll  be  all  you  can  do  to  feed  one.  You'll  have 
to  scratch  like  the  devil  to  do  that.  You  won't  be  able 
to  support  any  encumbrances  up  here.  But  you'll  like 
it.  Say,  I'll  bet  a  million  you'll  like  it,  when  you  get 
your  sea  legs  on  and  get  things  humming.  Why,  you're 
a  regular  picture  o'  them  old  Norsemen  I've  read 
about,  come  down  in  a  straight  line, — Olaf — Segul — 
T'or " 

"  T'or  be  d— d !  "  said  Rob,  exceeding  bitterly,  his 
head  in  his  hands. 

"Why   don't   ye  look   about   ye?"   I   cried.      "It's 


WITHOUT    HIS    LATCHKEY  29 

great.  It's  tremendous.  It's  worth  all  the  rotten  cities 
in  the  universe.  It's  God  A'mighty.  Just  look ! " 

"  I  c'n  hear  'nough  of  it,"  he  moaned,  "  without 
lookin'." 

"  Oh,  come,  Rob,"  said  I,  "  come  on,  shipmate.  Get 
up  on  your  feet  and  hold  your  head  in  the  air.  Livin' 
or  dyin',  fear  nothin'  nor  nobody,  by  Csesar!  Say, 
don't  turn  ship  about  now,  and  run  before  the  gale, 
like  you  was  afraid.  No,  sir,  you  won't  do  that ;  you're 
too  big,  you're  a  long  sight  too  brave.  Drive  her  on. 
Meet  the  swell,  meet  the  breakers. — Drive  her  on,  to 
port!" 

"  Jim,"  said  he,  courteously,  with  a  confiding  air  of 
bravado,  "  give  's  your  hand  on  it." 


CHAPTER    III 

UP    THE    HILL 

THERE  was  a  curious,  and,  I  felt,  an  altogether  un- 
necessarily large  group  down  by  the  shore  to  meet  me 
on  my  arrival  with  my  passenger.  My  comings  were 
usually  executed  lonely  and  in  silence. 

Silent  was  the  group,  now,  until  Rob's  tall  silk  hat 
began  to  dawn  upon  them.  He  had  started  from  New 
York  with  an  appropriate  paraphernalia  of  headgear 
in  his  hat  box, — derby,  soft  felt,  traveling  cap,  fur 
cap  to  match  his  sealskin  overcoat,  but  he  had,  per- 
haps, staked  what  came  most  handy  in  the  little  games 
of  chance  with  which  he  had  beguiled  the  tedious  jour- 
ney; anyway,  when  I  met  him.  he  had  survived  with 
only  this  dandy  silk  hat  which  now  settled  down  softly, 
dripping  with  sea-dew,  on  the  short  barber-trained 
waves  of  his  tawny  hair. 

The  first  intimation  that  the  awe  on  the  part  of  the 
onlookers  was  broken  came  in  a  running  voluntary  of 
giggles  from  some  observant  boys. 

"  Preachin'  service  next  Sunday,"  said  one  to  his 
elbow-mate,  and  showed  his  broad  teeth  in  hilarity. 

"  'Tain't  a  preacher  neither,"  responded  seriously  the 
one  addressed ;  "  it's  a  sewin'-machine  agent." 

"Oh,  shet  up,"  said  a  third.  "See  them  trunks. 
It's  a  candy-sample  runner,  an'  a  wholesale  one  too,  by 
gosh!" 

30 


UP    THE    HILL  31 

As  all  three  watered  at  the  mouth  under  this  con- 
clusion, Rob  rose  in  sickly  fashion,  surveyed  the  wet 
shoals  of  the  beach,  rolled  up  the  trousers  from  his 
dainty  boots  displaying  some  blue  silk  stockings  with 
pink  ornamentations  on  'em,  a  diamond  ring  on  his 
finger  flashing  brilliantly  as  he  performed  this  feat. 

Then  he  touched  earth,  and  swaggered  unsteadily 
forward.  There  must  have  been  some  red  dye  in  the 
silk  lining  of  his  hat ;  it  had  soaked  down  coldly  on  to 
his  cheeks,  and  there  was  no  question  but  that  he  looked 
theatrical. 

The  boys  grew  bolder,  and  gave  the  lively  steed  of 
their  fancy  free  rein. 

"Say,  Mister,  when  does  your  show  open?  " 

"  Say,  Mister,  which  o'  them  boxes  you  got  the  per- 
formin'  puppies  in?  " 

"  I'll  show  you,"  said  Rob,  catching  his  breath  and 
leaning  up  against  a  bowlder, — "  I'll  show  you  a*  right, 
one  o'  these  days,  boys,  what — hie — what  box  the — hie 
— the  performin'  puppies  are  in." 

His  voice  was  soft  and  sweet,  coming  from  such  a 
huge  bulk.  He  appeared  larger  by  reason  of  his  coat- 
ing of  seal  fur.  They  knew  not  that  the  seal  fur  might, 
possibly,  be  deceptive;  that,  it  might  be  possible,  an 
angry  lion  lay  tortured  in  Rob  Hilton's  breast.  His 
voice  was  plaintive  and  sweet,  his  cheeks  ludicrously 
painted,  and  he  had  to  lean  against  a  bowlder  for 
support. 

"  Say,"  piped  one  shrill  voice,  overstepping  all 
bounds,  and  taking  the  safeguard  of  flight  as  he  yelled, 
"  gi'  me  a  free  ticket,  an'  I'll  wash  yer  face  for  ye." 

"  Belay  thar,"  bellowed  Captain  Belcher,  driving  a 


32  POWER    LOT 

pair  of  oxen  to  the  front.  "  Belay  thar,  you  suckers, 
— he's  my  man."  Captain  Belcher  advanced  toward 
Rob  with  outstretched  hand.  "  Ye're  welcome,  young 
swell,"  he  roared  breezily.  "  Ye're  welcome,  Mr. — 
ahem — Mr.  Daisy  Lee.  Have  I  named  ye  by  the  right 
handle?  How  d'  do?  How  d'  do?"  There  was  abun- 
dant good  nature  in  his  voice,  unable  to  quell,  however, 
the  promptitude  of  wit  which  surged  as  a  fountain 
within  him. 

"  My  name  is  not  *  Lee,'  "  said  Rob   surlily. 

"No?  Wai',  we'll  get  things  goin'  by  the  right 
crank  arter  a  while.  Anything  '11  do  so  as  it  '11  churn 
the  butter,  ye  know.  Ho,  ho !  Ho,  ho !  " 

The  wild  shore  rang  with  the  buoyant  laughter  of 
Captain  Belcher  and  his  attendant  group. 

"  It's  nice  to  be  smart,"  said  Rob,  extremely  cyn- 
ically, from  his  bowlder, — "  and  so  d — d  funny."  He 
kept  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  disdaining  the  overture  of 
Captain  Belcher's  great  outstretched  fist.  Captain 
Belcher  eyed  him.  He  was  a  man  of  turbulent  passions 
when  roused.  I  waited  a  bit  apprehensively.  But  Rob 
had  got  to  fight  his  own  battles.  That  was  part  of  the 
day's  work.  If  a  man  gets  too  tipsy  to  stand  up  for 
himself,  and  still  takes  a  sly  pull  at  the  bottle  when- 
ever he  gets  a  chance,  he  may  as  well  have  his  eye- 
openers  come  in  the  natural  way.  Captain  Belcher's 
regard  of  the  handsome  weakling  leaning  unsteadily 
against  the  bowlder  changed  from  indignation  to  con- 
tempt. He  turned  to  boisterous  action. 

"  Now  then,  boys,  all  together.  Let's  heave  this 
cargo  aboard.  The  kerridge  is  at  the  door."  He 
indicated  thus  humorously  the  ox-cart  half  buried  in 


UP    THE    HILL  33 

the  surf,  a  coarse  structure  set  up  on  thundrous 
wheels.  "  Now  boys,  all  together.  Heave  'er  up.  By 
the  looks  o'  your  dunnage  you're  reckoning  on  spend- 
in*  some  time  with  us,  Mr.  Lee." 

"  Sure,  I  brought  'nough  to  change  my  shirt  once 
'n  while,"  replied  Rob,  with  meaning,  his  already 
nauseated  vision  fixed  unpleasantly  on  Captain  Belcher's 
soiled  "  linen." 

"That's  right.  Hope  ye'll  marry  an'  settle  right 
down  here,"  retorted  the  now  imperturbable  captain. 
"  Sorry  I  ain't  got  a  closed  cab  for  ye.  I  was  engaged 
ter  haul  ye  up,  an'  that  'ar  team  o'  oxen's  all  I  got  to 
show  on  the  road.  What  d'  ye  say  to  it?  Don't  mind 
my  feelin's — I'm  used  to  havin'  'em  hurted." 

"  Did  you  make  it  y'rself  ?  "  queried  Rob,  contem- 
plating the  grotesque  equipage  with  plausible  curiosity. 

"  I  made  the  cart,  Mr.  Lee.  One  whose  name  I 
always  mentions  with  awe  made  the  oxen." 

A  joyful  laugh  went  up   all  around  Rob. 

"  Say,  Belcher,"  inquired  one,  eagerly,  "  ye  go'n* 
ter  haul  'em  up  Joggins,  or  the  steep  way?  " 

"  I'm  goin'  up  the  steep  way,"  replied  Captain 
Belcher  without  hesitation,  thoughtfully  eliminating  a 
strain  from  his  quid  of  tobacco.  "  My  oxen  has  jest 
been  calked,  they'll  scrabble  to  it,  I  reckon;  an'  per- 
haps the  view  '11  kind  o'  wake  up  Daisy,  here.  He'll 
be  glad  he  come,  I  bet,  when  he  sees  what  a  view  we  got. 
We  got  a  view,  by  Tar,  to  knock  the  Alps  endways. 
All  aboard,  Mr.  Lee.  My  fagan,  here,  '11  only  carry 
one  passenger  aside  the  trunks,  an'  you're  that  pas- 
senger by  birth,  eddication,  an'  good  looks.  Ef  I'd 
only  been  born  to  ride  instead  o'  walk !  When  I'm  in  a 


84  POWER    LOT 

boat  I  git  a  chanct  to  set  down  an'  ride,  but  ol'  mother 
earth  has  allus  called  on  me  to  hoof  it.  Git  aboard." 

"  I  fancy  I'll  walk,  too,"  said  Rob,  lurching  forward 
— but  he  could  not.  With  the  long  sail  and  the  bleak 
chill  of  the  wind  added  to  his  potations, — he  could  not. 

"  Heave,  ho.  Heave  yerself  up  thar  'longside  yer 
stowage,"  commanded  Captain  Belcher  cheerfully,  in 
a  bellow  that  seemed  to  cow  the  very  elements.  "  Set 
down  on  that  balk  of  timber  I've  laid  for  ye  athwart  the 
gun'els  o'  the  cart.  Thar  now.  Feel  yer  moorin's? 
We'll  warp  ye  up  to  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  somehow. 
Gee,  haw!  Giddup,  Buck.  Giddup,  Bill.  Giddup." 
A  resonant  crack  of  his  whip  started  the  procession. 
The  "  balk  of  timber  "  was  securely  held  in  place  by 
the  trunks,  which  were  chained  to  the  floor  and  cross- 
beams of  the  cart.  The  cart  itself  bore  evidence  of 
having  served  recently  as  a  loud  instrument  in  the  pur- 
veying of  guano.  Rob  rolled  up  his  trousers  still  higher 
and  gathered  his  garments  close  about  him. 

"  He's  reef  in*  all  but  his  jib,"  commented  an  on- 
looker. 

"  Say,  watch  him  wrop  himself  up  in  his  fur  polinay," 
exclaimed  a  delighted  boy,  with  breezy  directness. 

Rob  had  a  way  usually  of  carrying  himself  at  ease. 
He  sat,  gnawing  his  mustache,  remotely  sad,  in  spite 
of  the  animated  group  surrounding  the  cart. 

"  Does  all  this — rabble — belong  where  I'm  goin'  ?  " 
he  inquired  presently,  with  sour  emphasis. 

"  No,"  responded  Captain  Belcher ;  "  but  events  has 
so  transpired  as  ter  bring  about  a  picnic  for  'em  early 
in  the  season  this  year,  an'  these  'ere  innercent 
monkeys,  blame'  ef  they  ain't  takin'  advantage  of  it." 


UP    THE    HILL  35 

"  I  s'pose  there's  no  way  'round  here  of  making 
people  mind  their  own  business?  "  Rob  flashed  a  look 
of  hate  at  his  blowsy  following. 

"  Mebby.  Mebby,"  said  Captain  Belcher  reflec- 
tively :  "  that's  somethin'  ye'll  have  ter  'tend  to  when 
ye  can  stand  on  yer  own  pins,  Daisy.  Meanwhiles — 
it's  my  'dvice — you  jest  take  what  comes,  without  callin' 
no  more  'tention  to  yerself  'n  you  can  help.  Tell  ye 
the  plain  truth,  ye're  more  conspikerous  anyway  'n 
what  I  reckoned  on  when  I  agreed  ter  haul  ye  up  the 
hill." 

"  Shut  your  mouth,"  suddenly  cried  Rob,  doubling 
his  fists. 

"  'Tain't  safe,"  Captain  Belcher  roared  back  at  him 
pleasantly.  "  Tell  ye,  'tain't  safe.  Let  me  shet  my 
mouth,  an'  these  'ere  oxen'd  balk  an'  back,  mebby ;  an' 
them  an'  you'd  roll  back'ards  down  into — why,  jest 
look  back  o'  ye!  Gee,  Buck.  Gee  thar.  Whar  in  doom 
ye  goin'  to?  Giddup.  Giddup."  An  alarming  man- 
date of  the  whip  exploded  in  Rob's  ears,  as  he  turned. 

He  shivered  at  the  stupendous  scene  spread  below 
him,  and  turned  his  head  quickly  again  only  to  meet 
the  awful  upward  vista  of  the  steeps  on  which  he  hung 
poised.  His  heart  sickened,  his  very  flesh  crawled 
inwardly. 

"  Sure  the  stick  that  holds  your  beasts  on  to  this 
cart  is  firm?"  He  spoke  very  meekly. 

"  By  the  holy  Sewin'-Circle,  I  hope  so ! "  bawled 
Captain  Belcher  bluffly.  "  I  was  haulin'  a  mess  o' 
women  up  the  hill  onct  with  this  'ere  same  cart  ans 
tackle,  when  the  thole-pin  broke,  and  by  the  Great 
Mothers'  Meetin',  of  all  the  jumpin'  out!  Don't  you 


36  POWER    LOT 

never  tell  me  wimmcn  ain't  qualified  to  jump.  Don't 
say  a  word.  I  ain't  seen  jumpin'  before  nor  since. 
Giddup,  Buck.  What  in  doom  you  balkin'  for? 
Giddup." 

A  sensation  of  horrible  dizziness  was  coming  over 
Rob.  He  dared  not  look  behind  him  again. 

"  Most  hills  out  in  the  country  wind  around  more, 
and  have  some  level  breathing  places,"  he  suggested 
faintly. 

"  I  wish  't  you'd  brought  some  o'  that  kind  along 
with  ye,"  blustered  Captain  Belcher.  "This  'ere  old 
hill  has  been  foun*  fault  with,  an'  brought  up  in  town- 
meetin',  an'  condemned,  an' ' 

"  Stop  your  cart,"  gasped  Rob, — "  I'm  cold — I  want 
to  walk." 

"  Stop  my  cart  here — Daisy?  Not  unless  't  you  want 
ter  start  fresh  an'  go  back'ards." 

Rob  leaped  wildly  over  his  boxes,  and  sprang  to 
earth,  sprawling.  The  color  slowly  throbbed  back  to 
his  cheeks  as  he  rose.  He  gave  a  blissful  sigh. 

"  Walkin'  's  good  enough  for  me,"  he  asserted  to 
his  staring  attendants.  He  seemed  inclined  to  be 
friendly,  like  one  suddenly  rescued  from  fearful  peril. 

"  Say,"  he  went  on  conversationally ;  "  that  was 
awful.  Say,  boys,  I  wouldn't  get  into  that  cart  an' 
ride  up  this  hill  again  for  a  thousand  dollars.  No — by 
cricky,  I  wouldn't  for  ten  thousand." 

"  Pooh,"  said  one  bright-eyed  lad,  of  stringy,  leath- 
ery frame ;  "  what  '11  ye  give  me  ter  ride  up  ?  " 

Rob  had  become  genial.  He  fumbled  in  his  pockets 
and  drew  out  some  silver.  The  lad  leaped  blithely  over 
the  cart  wheels  to  the  summit  of  the  trunks,  balanced 


STOP  YOUR  CART,"  GASPED  ROB, 
TO  WALK." 


I'M  COLD  — I  WANT 


UP    THE    HILL  37 

himself  on  one  foot,  and  thus  derisively  accosted  the 
giddy  pitch  of  the  hill  before  him : 

"  Oh,  my !  I'm  afraid  of  ye.  Oh,  don't  ye  look 
steep!  Oh,  my!  Guess  the  oxen  '11  sure  git  stuck  on 
this  'ere  hummock  I'm  comin'  to,  an'  fall  down  an'  go 
back'ards,  an'  me  an'  the  cart  an'  oxen  go  roll — rollity, 
bump-bumpity — oh,  my!  Guess  I'll  turn  'round  an' 
see  where  we'll  go  to." 

He  swung  around  with  a  flourish,  poised  himself  on 
the  other  foot  to  meet  the  emergencies  of  the  incline 
and  waved  his  dirty  little  paw  with  a  comprehensive- 
ness that  smacked  of  contempt  toward  the  distant  Bay 
of  Fundy,  the  nearer  Basin,  the  eastward  stretch  of 
river,  toward  precipice  and  solemn  woods,  toward  sea 
and  land. 

"How  d'  do?"  said  he  familiarly.  "Ye're  lookin' 
fine.  Now  let's  see  where  I'll  go  to  when  me  an'  the  cart 
an'  oxen  git  going  back'ards.  We'll  slew  around  an' 
bounce  the  fence  by  Job's  pastur',  an'  then  arter  we 
rolled  a  while  we'll  make  a  lap  over  the  school'us'  bel- 
f  rey  down  there,  an'  knock  the  trimmin's  off  the  Baptis' 
steeple,  an' " 

"  That'll  do,  sonny,"  Rob  interrupted,  with  a  pale 
and  weary  smile;  "you've  earned  your  money.  Get 
down  off  of  that.  You  make  me  sick." 

Rob  had  taken  off  his  fur  overcoat  in  an  effort  to 
keep  up  with  this  climbing  company.  In  spite  of  the 
cold  wind,  the  perspiration  stood  out  on  his  face  in 
heavy  drops. 

"  Is  there  any  top  to  this  business?  "  he  asked,  hoarse 
with  weakness,  of  Captain  Belcher. 

"  Last  time  I  came  up  this  hill,  she  had  a  top  to  *er," 


38  POWER    LOT 

replied  the  captain ;  "  but  somethin'  may  'a'  happened 
sence.  Run  on  ahead  there,  some  o'  you  monkeys,  an' 
see  ef  the  top's  gone  off'n  this  hill." 

"  The  trees  hides  it,"  piped  an  honest  voice.  "  Thar's 
a  great  flat  top,  an'  Power  Lot's  up  thar,  too.  Say, 
Mister,"  continued  this  white-haired  youngster,  ap- 
proaching Rob  in  all  innocence  with  a  bottle  held  in 
his  hand,  "  here's  somethin'  jest  dropped  outer  the 
pocket  o'  yer  hairy  coat." 

Rob's  face  was  not  capable  of  a  deeper  crimson  than 
that  it  had  already  assumed  through  his  exertions  to 
keep  up,  with  the  rest  in  mounting  the  hill.  He  stretched 
forth  his  hand,  however,  with  nonchalant  nimbleness. 

"  Doctor's  medicine,"  he  explained  fatuously — "  keep 
me  from  takin'  cold." 

Captain  Belcher  regarded  him  with  an  insidious  wink, 
and  cleared  his  own  throat  with  a  bluster  of  vital  sound- 
ness. "  Seems  ter  me  I  got  a  little  tetch  o'  sore  throat 
comin'  on  myself,"  he  subjoined.  "  I  reckon  you  an' 
me  ketch  cold  kind  o'  easy,  don't  we,  Mr.  Lee?  What 
is  yer  prescription,  thar?  Peruny?  Cherry  Pictorial? 
Scott's  Emulation?  Plain  Sassaprilly,  mebby?— all  the 
same  so  long  as  it's  got  the  force  to  shoot  down  mid- 
channel  an'  wallop  the  center  o'  disease.  Let's  smell 
the  label." 

Rob  laughed,  and  resigned  the  bottle  with  quick  and 
generous  courtesy. 

The  captain  tasted,  and  smacked  his  lips.  "Mis' 
Wunslow's  Soothin'  Syrup,"  he  remarked  judicially; 
"  jest  what  I  thought.  Yes,  that  was  put  up  by  Mis' 
Wunslow.  Ahem.  Wai' — Haw,  thar,  Buck.  What  you 
makin'  off  inter  the  fir  trees  for?  By  Tar  an*  Bloaters, 


UP    THE    HILL  39 

you  two  brute  critturs  has  got  ter  git  to  the  top  o'  this 
hill,  an'  why  in  nation  don't  ye  brace  to  it?  Giddup. 
Giddup." 

In  the  supreme  necessity  of  goading  his  oxen  to  en- 
deavor, Captain  Belcher  had  inadvertently  consigned 
the  bottle  to  his  own  pocket;  but  his  mind  presently 
reverted  with  undimmed  clearness  to  the  subject  in 
hand. 

"Ahem,  yes,  Soothin'  Syrup — very — soothiner  'n 
h — 1;  but  we  got  a  prescription  'round  here  't  '11 
knock  the  stuffin'  outer  a  cold  while  that  'ere  stuff 
you're  luggin'  'round  with  ye  has  ter  lay  by  an'  look 
on  in  'stonishment,  Mr.  Lee." 

"  '  Hilton,'  if  you  please,  sir, — not  *  Lee,'  "  said  Rob, 
his  lips  tightening  and  the  light  of  manhood  suddenly 
waking  in  his  sweat-begrimed  eyes ;  "  and,  if  you'll  re- 
member, it's  not  I  that's  *  luggin'  the  stuff '  now.  It's 
you" 

"  Sure,"  said  the  cheerful  captain,  unabashed.  "  I'm 
boun'  ter  call  ye  '  Hilton  '  all  right,  soon  as  ye  worry 
up  ter  the  top  o'  this  hill.  And  you're  doin'  great 
hoof-work,  considerin'  the  pitch,  an'  how  you  ain't  use 
to  it.  Great !  'T  looks  ter  me  as  though  ye'd  make  it. 
An'  then  me  an'  these  boys  air  a-goin'  ter  wave  our  caps 
an'  hurray  for  Mr.  Hiltop — ain't  we,  boys?  " 

"  '  Hilton,'  you  clown,"  Rob  blurted  out,  in  revenge- 
ful distress,  his  breath  coming  in  short  gasps. 
"  '  Hilton.'  " 

"  Say,  I  c'd  kick  myself " — expostulated  Captain 
Belcher  reasonably — "  for  not  havin'  no  more  memory. 
1  Hilton— Hilton  '—Sure.  That's  it.  Now  I'm  goin' 
ter  lay  that  away,  jest  the  way  it  is,  along  o'  the  dried 


40  POWER    LOT 

sage  an*  boncset  in  my  old  garret  here,"  he  tapped  his 
forehead  depreciatively. 

"  And  remember,  it's  you  that's  carryin'  the 
'  stuff,'  "  Rob  reminded  him,  bitterly. 

"  *  Hilton.'  Yes.  Le'  me  see,  what  was  I  sayin'  ? 
Oh,  yes — we  got  a  perscription  'round  here,  that's  a 
wonder-worker  on  any  man  what's  predersposed  to  pul- 
minary  affectations.  This  'ere  perscription — she's  a 
mericle." 

"  A  what  f  "  sniffed  Rob. 

"  She's  a  mericle  in  her  drawin',  savin'  power,  that's 
what  she  is.  She  sucks  out  the  inflermation  like  a  double 
pad  o'  Griswol's  OP  Family  Salve,  that's  what  she  does." 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  "  said  Rob,  as  testily  as  his  gen- 
eral contempt  and  indifference  for  the  subject  would 
allow. 

"  It's — she's — ahem — she  consists  of —  Giddup  thar ! 
giddup !  what  ye  yawin'  all  over  the  road  for !  She 
consists  o'  a  plow,  an'  a  shovel,  an'  a  spade,  an'  a 
hoe,  an'  other  implements,  an'inted  every  half -hour  with 
a  gallon  er  two  o'  elbow-grease.  She's  a  d — n  hard  dose 
ter  take.  I  been  a-takin'  of  her,  all  my  life.  But  she 
socks  right  down  ter  work  an'  does  the  job,  every  time. 
She  reds  ye  o'  every  pulminary  affectation  so  clean  ye 
wouldn't  know  ye'd  got  any  pulminary  for  affectations 
ter  light  on.  By  the  Livin'  Wheelbarrow,  I  know  what 
I'm  talkin'  about  too." 

"  That's  lucky,"  Rob  managed  to  sneer  painfully, 
his  great  overcoat  sagging  on  his  arm,  his  spent 
breath  coming  in  gasps  that  were  almost  sobs,  as  he 
made  another  desperate  effort  to  keep  up  with  the  pro- 
cession ;  "  that's  lucky,  for  /  don't." 


UP    THE    HILL  41 

"  No,  ye  don't,  Mr.  Lee — Mr.  *  Hilton,'  as  soon  as 
ye  git  to  the  top — I  won't  forgit  my  'ngageraents.  No, 
ye  don't,  but  the  medicine's  waitin'  for  ye  all  right,  and, 
as  man  ter  man,  I  wish  ye  the  pluck  ter  swaller  it  with- 
out kickin'.  'S  I  understand  it,  ye've  rented  a  piece  o' 
the  Stingaree  land  up  yander,  ter  go  ter  f armin'  ?  " 

"  I  have  not,"  said  Rob  with  apparently  dying  breath. 
"  I'm  going  back — to  New  York — first  chance  I  can 
get." 

"  Sho.  Wai',  brace  up,"  said  Captain  Belcher,  with 
genuine  commiseration,  as  he  surveyed  the  exhausted 
victim ;  "  brace  up.  We're  most  thar.  Mebby  now, 
God  A'mighty  sent  ye,  arter  all,  in  some  kind  o'  katy- 
cornered  way  ye  don't  see  the  lights  of,  yit."  The  ap- 
peal of  Rob's  condition  may  be  imagined,  to  draw  forth 
so  tender  a  flight  from  the  loud  and  reckless  tongue  of 
Captain  Belcher.  "  Say,"  he  continued,  "  ye  think  ye 
been  misled  about  the  aspecks  an'  fertility  o'  the 
kentry?" 

"  I  do,"  sobbed  Rob,  with  an  oath. 

"  Wai',  I  been  sayin'  to  myself,  you're  a  cur'ous  kind 
o'  crittur  ter  be  exploitin'  'round  up  here  for  ways 
ter  make  yer  livin'.  Cur'ous.  Nothin'  o'  the  kind — 
that  is,  not  adzackly ;  no,  nor  anywheres  near  it — was 
ever  sprung  on  us  afore.  Nothin',  I  mean,  that  is,  so 
kind  o' — ahem — high-toned — as  you  prob'ly  was — when 
you  started." 

"I've  had  a  dirty  trick  played  on  me,  that's  all," 
muttered  Rob. 

"  Joke,  eh?  "  The  captain's  red  face  fairly  cracked 
in  a  grin  of  helpless  sympathy  for  those  on  the  other 
side  of  the  game.  "  Wai',  never  mind.  You  sharpen  yer 


42  POWER    LOT 

claws  'round  here  a  spell,  so  as  you  c'n  raise  Time 
an'  Turnover  with  'em  when  you  git  back.  Trick,  eh? 
— Giddup.  Giddup. — Here  we  be.  Say,  there  ain't 
no  view,  nor  nothin',  'round  here,  is  there?  "  Captain 
Belcher  himself  paused  with  his  oxen  for  breath  at 
the  summit. 

"  Say,  jest  cock  yer  eye  off  thar  to  wind'ard,"  he 
continued,  in  that  unaccustomed  comment  upon  nature 
which  the  presence  of  a  stranger  probably  incited  in 
him.  "  Say,  ef  ye  could  put  a  few  more  oceans  an* 
continents,  along  with  what  the'  already  is  a-layin' 
off  thar,  it  'ud  begin  ter  size  up  inter  somethin'  of  an 
aspcck,  eh?  " 

Rob,  still  panting,  purposely  kept  his  back  to  the 
vision,  an  angry  and  despairing  growl  in  his  eye. 

"  Perhaps  ye'd  rather  look  at  things  'round  nearer 
hum'  ?  "  suggested  the  captain.  "  Wai',  that's  Mary 
Stingaree's  place  off  thar,  'tother  side  the  lane." 

Rob  saw,  and  turned  with  an  unstifled  groan  to  face 
the  terrors  of  the  larger  view.  He  shuddered,  and  once 
more  turned  about. 

"  Don't  feel  so  down-in-the-mouth,"  Captain  Belcher 
again  entreated  him  kindly ;  "  it's  good  pertater  land." 

"What  kind  o'  land?"  Rob  echoed,  with  the  now 
pallid  ghost  of  a  sneer. 

"  Good  land  f'r  raisin'  pertaters,  ef  ye  take  the  fore- 
sight ter  lay  on  a  top-dressin'  o'  fish-gurry  an' " 

"  Spare  me  the  particulars,"  interposed  the  fastidious 
Rob,  with  a  dying  snarl.  "  I'll  take  your  word  for  it." 

"  Why,  I  was  jest  goin'  ter  mention  " — there  was  an 
inflection  of  chaste  dignity  and  reproach  in  Captain 
Belcher's  tones — "  I  was  jest  goin'  ter  mention  a  leetle 


UP    THE    HILL  43 

kelp,  'r  sea-weed,  along  o'  the  fish-gurry.  Ye  ain't  so 
qualmy  but  what  ye  c'n  hear  them  mentioned,  be  ye? 
I  was  tryin'  ter  ding  it  inter  ye,  't  a  man  with  any 
gumption  't  all,  even  ef  he  had  come  off  the  nest  kind 
er  half-baked,  could  cl'ar  a  hundred  dollars  a  year  off 'n 
his  pertaters,  over  'n  above  livin'  expenses ;  pervided,  of 
course,  't  he  don't  make  a  hog  o'  himself." 

"  And  if  he  should  make  a  hog  of  himself?  "  asked 
Rob,  in  confiding  satire.  The  struggle  with  the  hill 
had  cleared  his  brain,  and  he  spoke  with  treacherous 
smoothness. 

"  Depends  entirely,"  said  Captain  Belcher  faithfully, 
"  on  how  much  er  a  hog  he  makes  er  himself." 

"  Exactly.  And  if  he  doesn't  make  a  hog  of  himself, 
he  clears  a  hundred  dollars  a  year?  " 

"  Ef  the  God  o'  the  elements  don't  thwart  him  with 
some  queer  ructions  in  the  weather  line,  he  does." 

"  You  astonish  me." 

"  I  done  it  accidental,  then." 

"  You  fill  me  with  ambition,  with  hope."  There  were 
wild  tears,  nevertheless,  in  Rob's  eyes.  "  When  does 
the  next  boat  sail  back  to  Waldeck?  " 

Captain  Belcher  shook  his  head.  "  Onsartain.  Hit 
or  miss.  Jest  as  it  happens.  Sometime,  or  no  time. 
Nothin'  regular.  Sure,  we  goes  fishin'  on  the  Basin, 
an'  a  ways  out  inter  the  Bay,  more  or  less,  'cordin'  to 
the  weather,  but  take  us,  by  an'  large,  we're  more  farm- 
in'  'n  what  we  use'  ter  be ;  an'  it's  a  pecooliar  ledgy, 
murderin',  nasty  long  sail  over  ter  Waldeck.  Jim's 
about  the  only  one  'round  here,  now,  't  associates, 
reg'lar,  along  o'  the  gulls.  The  wood-packets — they 
make  out,  occasional',  but  the'  's  no  reckonin'  on  'em, 


44  POWER    LOT 

and  they're  so  leaky  the  eels  shins  up  through  their 
bottoms." 

"Where  is  Jim?" 

"  That's  what  we're  allus  askin'.  He's  here  an'  thar 
• — Jim  is ; — mostly  thar." 

Laughter  hung,  open-mouthed,  on  the  visages  of  the 
surrounding  group. 

*'  Are  all  this  lot,  that's  tagged  me  up  the  hill,  going 
to  the  house  with  me?  "  Rob  further  complained  from 
the  sodden  depths  of  his  despair. 

"  I  'low  ye,"  Captain  Belcher  responded  heartily, 
"  that  ain't  fair.  See  here,  boys,  Mr.  Hilton  is  a-goin', 
kind  er  petered-out,  an' — ahem — all  mussed-up,  with  his 
long  journey,  ter  meet  a  beautiful,  highly  eddicated 
young  lady,  what  you  knows  on,  over  yander.  She 
knocks  the  sand  all  outer  me  with  them  eyes  o'  hern 
when  I  got  my  Sunday  rig  on.  How  d'  ye  suppose  Mr. 
Hilton  feels  ? — all  sweaty,  an'  sick's  a  cat  at  the  aspecks 
o'  the  kentry?  Now  you  git — hum'." 

That  Captain  Belcher  was  a  man  of  valiance  was 
exemplified  by  the  obedient  haste  with  which  the  group 
dispersed,  dodging  off  among  the  fir  trees  and  bowlders 
that  surrounded  the  trail  of  the  "  Steep  Way." 

Rob  and  the  captain,  and  the  exceeding  noise  made  by 
the  cart  bearing  the  boxes,  progressed  toward  the  Sting- 
aree  house ;  and  that,  it  must  be  said,  with  a  reluctance 
on  Rob's  part  that  was  well-nigh  recalcitrant. 

"  Say,  she  is  a  han'some  young  woman,  an'  no  mistake 
— Mary  Stingaree  is."  Thus  the  captain  attempted 
to  prod  the  jaded  senses  of  the  being  beside  him.  But 
Rob  had  another  thought,  and  its  essence  was  of  the 
lowest  dregs  of  bitterness. 


UP    THE    HILL  45 

"  If  you  remember,"  he  once  more  reminded  the  cap- 
tain, "  it's  you  that's  carrying  the  «  stuff  '." 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  shouted  Captain  Belcher  ob- 
liviously, in  a  tone  of  lordly  willingness  to  oblige,  but 
he  did  not  return  the  bottle  to  Rob's  wistful  hand ; 
"  don't  never  mention  it.  Allus  glad  ter  do  ye  a  favor 
when  I  kin.  Whoa  thar',  Buck.  Whoa,  Bill.  I  offered 
to  back  ye  up  to  the  door,  but  I  didn't  want  ye  ter  send 
the  cart  clean  through  the  house,  dang  ye." 


CHAPTER  IV 

MAEY    STINGAEEE 

MAEY  tried  not  to  notice  how  Rob  looked.  As  Captain 
Belcher  said  to  me  afterwards :  "  Jim,"  says  he,  "  I 
was  sorry  fer  'im.  Now  don't  you  discount  that  one 
mite.  I  was  sorry  fer  'im.  I'd  almost  ruther  he'd  been 
silly  drunk;  the'  's  some  excuse  fer  a  man  lookin'  as 
he  done  when  he's  drunk.  As  it  was,  when  I  persented 
him  to  Mary,  it  looked  an'  appeared  ter  me  as  ef 
I  was  persentin'  somethin'  't  lay  hard  on  my  stummick 
as  a  natteral  fool-jackass — an'  I  wa'n't  no  ways  rer- 
sponsible  for  him,  neither;  but  thar  he  was,  hitched 
ter  my  towline;  an'  me,  as  I  looked  at  him,  only  jest 
wishin'  't  I  could  have  a  glass  o'  plain  sody  ter  git  my 
stummick  back  whar  it  was  afore  I  met  him." 

"  Wasn't  the  pay  you  got  for  the  job  satisfactory, 
Belcher?  "I  asked. 

"  Sure,  sure.  But  no  ordinary  reckonin's  wouldn't 
apply  ter  that  job.  Why,  Jim,  I  took  sass  from  him. 
Say,  I  actcherly  took  sass  from  the  crittur  without  so 
much  as  heavin'  a  chip  at  him.  An'  Mary — she  was 
took  in  the  same  way.  She  turned  soft,  too." 

"What  do  you  say?" 

"  I  say,  soon  as  she  looked  at  Daisy,  she  '  threw  up 
the  rag,'  like  the  wust  knocked-out  champeen  in  the 
ring.  She  did  so.  Ma'y  Sting'ree  's  a  woman  that's 
natterally  kind  o'  awesome  to  a  man — leastways,  her 

46 


MARY    STINGAREE  47 

eyes  gives  me  the  creeps.  They  ain't  unhullsome  eyes, 
but  they're  too  d — n  big  an'  queer  for  comfort.  When 
she  turns  'em  full  on  me,  by  Gripes,  I  allus  feel  as  ef 
I  was  settin'  in  the  choir  facin'  the  hull  congregation, 
with,  mebby,  a  rip  showin'  along  the  leg  o'  my  britches. 
I  allus  face  her  up  squar',  but  I'm  glad  when  I  git 
away.  This  is  jest  between  you  an'  me,  Jim.  She's  a 
fine  young  woman." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Rob,  on  entering  the  Stingaree 
house,  made  Mary  a  very  low  bow.  His  haggard  eyes 
were  without  hope,  or  any  question  of  hope;  but  he 
made  his  bow — and  such  a  bow  as  only  a  fellow  with  a 
long  line  of  ornate  ancestors  knows  how  to  make. 

"  Yer  trunks  is  too  large  ter  heave  thro'  the  door," 
Captain  Belcher  bellowed  at  him  at  this  juncture.  "  I'll 
have  ter  dump  'em  in  the  shed." 

"  It's  too  bad,"  Mary  said,  and  she  blushed ;  that 
was  all;  she  made  no  apology.  But  she  knew  civilized 
conditions  of  luxury  as  well  as  Rob. 

The  squawking  of  a  hen,  rudely  roused  from  her 
listless  dreams  of  maternal  empire  by  the  sudden  over- 
turn of  trunks  in  the  shed,  further  animated  the  meet- 
ing between  Mary  and  Rob.  As  Mary  had  tried  not 
to  notice  Rob's  appearance,  so  Rob  assumed  uncon- 
sciousness of  the  wild  racket  in  close  proximity.  Though 
Captain  Belcher's  unlading  fairly  shook  the  house,  Rob 
spoke  genteelly : 

"  The  shed  will  do  quite  as  well,  Miss  Stingaree.  I 
hope  you  won't  find  me  troublesome." 

"  I  find  you — very  welcome,"  said  Mary.  "  Your 
room  is  upstairs  to  the  right.  The  little  front  room 
to  the-  right." 


48  POWER    LOT 

"  Thank  you,  I  know  I  need  a  tub,"  murmured  Rob 
as  though  he  wanted  to  get  clean  and  then  die. 

Now,  an  all-over  bath  at  Power  Lot — unless,  of 
course,  you  dipped  in  the  River  or  the  Basin,  or  swum 
on  the  Bay — but  an  all-over  bath  in  the  house  at  Power 
Lot  meant  a  considerable  stunt  in  the  line  of  prepara- 
tion. It  meant  fetching  water  by  the  pailful  from  the 
spring  and  using  every  kettle  available  to  heat  it  up 
on  the  little  stove  in  the  kitchen ;  then,  it  meant  lugging 
it  upstairs  with  more  water  from  the  spring  to  make 
enough  of  it. 

"  I  heard  the  crittur  say  '  tub ',"  related  Captain 
Belcher  afterward,  "  an'  I  knew  he  'xpected,  from  sheer 
force  o'  habit,  ter  go  into  a  room  full  o'  v'ilet-smell 
soap  an'  towels,  an'  turn  on  the  fasset,  an'  then,  arter 
he'd  soaked  a  while,  ter  let  the  plug  out — an'  thar'  you 
be.  I'd  seen  them  kind  o'  bathrooms,  onct  in  a  while, 
in  my  own  day,  cruisin*  round. 

"  But  now,"  continued  Captain  Belcher,  "  when 
Daisy  Lee  says  '  tub,'  I  took  a  peeper  at  Mary's  face, 
an'  she  looked  as  though  she'd  run  up  agin'  a  cemetery. 
'Wouldn't  a  sponge  bath  be  wiser  this  evening?' 
says  she,  *  you  are  so  tired.'  *  No,'  says  that  slob  of 
a  Daisy  Lee  ag'in,  with  his  dyin'  genteel  voice,  '  I'll 
have  a  tub.'  '  I'll  see  ter  that,  Miss  Sting'ree,'  says  I, 
comin'  forwards,  an'  leavin'  my  oxen  ter  loll  'longside 
the  shed.  « I'll  see  ter  that.'  An'  thinks  I  ter  myself: 
'  You  want  a  tub,  Mis'  Daisy,  an'  I'll  git  ye  a  tub — an' 
be  blamed  to  ye  f'r  a  pcsterin'  foot-loose  pudd'nhead.' 

"  Say,"  went  on  Captain  Belcher,  "  I  went  ter  work. 
I  hove  myself  down  inter  the  cellar  an'  sawed  off  the 
eend  of  an  old  merlasses  barrel,  an'  I  rolled  'er  upstairs 


MARY    STINGAREE  49 

to  Daisy's  boodwar;  an'  then  I  set  to,  totin'  water,  an' 
bilin'  of  'er  on  the  stove.  'T  made  me  think  f  'r  all  the 
world  o'  hog-butcherin'.  Don't  know  why  it  brung 
up  that  to  me,  'cept  'twas  natterally  on  account  o' 
luggin  an'  bilin'  so  much  water.  Wai',  when  that  thar 
*  bath '  was  all  mixed,  I  says  to  Daisy,  '  Yer  tub  's  all 
ready,'  says  I  very  pleasant  an'  hopeful;  an'  me  an' 
the  oxen  lit  out. 

"  I  hope  he  got  clean,"  concluded  Captain  Belcher 
ruminatively.  "  It  'ud  'a'  been  a  friv'lous  fool- junket 
wastin'  water  that  way,  ef  it  hadn't  been  so  ridick'lous ; 
but  f'r  that  matter,  the  hull  stunt  o'  haulin'  him  up 
thar  was  as  comical  as  a  mess  o'  tame  b'ars.  I  laffed 
all  the  ways  home,  till  these  'ere  roundin'  sideslats  that 
make  up  the  mainstays  o'  a  man's  body-frame  was 
so  sore  they  squeaked.  Say,  I'm  givin'  that  to  ye 
straight — they  squeaked  audible." 

Rob,  having  previously  carried  up  a  portion  of  his 
wardrobe  from  the  boxes  in  the  shed,  took  his  bath  by 
the  light  of  a  rather  ineffectual  lamp,  his  mind  dwelling 
all  the  time  on  a  foretaste  of  something  which  he  had 
brought  up  concealed  in  a  mass  of  garments,  the  very 
thought  of  which  bloomed  as  a  coming  transport  within 
his  weary  breast. 

It  was  his  last,  his  only,  bottle.  If  he  had  known  the 
exigencies  of  the  situation  he  would  have  brought  more. 
Never  mind ;  he  had  that.  It  sustained  him  through  the 
dingy  and  unaccustomed  trials  of  his  bath.  He  dressed 
himself  scrupulously  in  clean  linen  and  broadcloth,  then 
he  took  a  beaker  of  his  one  remaining  source  of  com- 
fort and  joy,  and  thus  equipped  he  descended  the 
stairs  to  meet  Mary  Stingaree. 


50  POWER    LOT 

A  short  bustling  woman  had  come  over  from  a  neigh- 
boring house  to  help  Mary  get  supper  on  this  occasion. 
As  soon  as  Rob  had  emerged  from  his  room  this  pal- 
pably officious  female  began  grimly  to  bring  down, 
pailful  by  pailful,  the  dark  and  forsaken  waters  of  his 
bath. 

"That  Belcher,"  she  exclaimed  with  stiff  scorn. 
"  By  Jo,  I'd  like  to  knock  'im  over  with  his  jokes.  Ain't 
you  sticky?  "  she  inquired  seriously  of  Rob. 

Rob  had  suddenly  become  altogether  smiling  and 
blissful.  "  Yes,  madam,"  he  agreed  politely,  "  the 
water  was  a  trifle  sti — hie — sticky,  I  thought,  but  very 
sof,  very  nice  sof  water,  madam." 

Mrs.  Byjo — for  so  she  was  called  by  reason  of  her 
frequent  use  of  that  pure  though  forceful  expletive — 
Mrs.  Byjo  looked  very  hard  at  Rob,  sniffed  and  sighed 
with  a  mighty  breath  that  almost  alarmed  him.  She 
went  over  and  whispered  to  Mary.  Rob  did  not  mind ; 
his  sole  aim  was  to  be  condescending  and  agreeable,  as 
well  as  he  knew  how  under  the  circumstances. 

"  I  sh'd  think,"  he  said  with  great  delicacy  and 
friendliness,  as  the  roar  of  the  wind  outside  smote  his 
now  placid  ear,  "  I  sh'd  think  your  beautiful  little 
homesteads  up  here'd  get  blown  off,  sh'd  think  they'd 
get  going  and  blow  right  off,  over  on  to  all  '  kingdom- 
come  '  off  there.  Don't  see  how  you  make  'em  stay, 
really.  Anchored  somehow,  I  suppose?  "  he  concluded 
smilingly. 

"  Yes,  our  houses  are  anchored  all  right,"  replied 
Mrs.  Byjo  definitely,  "  and  they're  not  '  beautiful 
homesteads';  they're  poor  old  shacks  in  one  way  and 
another,  and  we  know  it."  She  shut  her  lips  with  an 


MARY    STINGAREE  51 

ominous  gravity  that  portended  sorrow;  but  Rob 
went  on: 

"  Doesn't  the  wind  ever  stop  blowing  'round  here  ?  " 

"  It  does,"  answered  Mrs.  Byjo,  "  when  its  work  is 
done.  Sometimes  it  has  to  tear  'round  till  it's  blown  a 
little  common  sense  into  some  intellecks  that  nothing 
but  a  tornado  '11  have  any  effect  on.  In  them  cases 
it  has  to  blow  long  and  blow  strong,  and  turn  and 
overturn." 

"  Gee,"  said  Rob  amiably,  letting  a  whistling  breath 
of  polite  surprise  through  his  white  teeth. 

"  It  blows,"  continued  Mrs.  Byjo,  "  until  them  that 
has  been  raised  soft  and  fearful  on  the  milk  o'  one 
cow,  as  the  sayin'  is,  gets  so  that  they  can  forage  up 
a  living  on  any  kind  o'  crusts  and  porridge  they  can 
lay  their  hand  to,  and  be  glad  of  it ;  yes,  and  be  the  bet- 
ter for  it,  too." 

"  I  sh'd  think  prob'ly  you  were  the  schoolteacher 
'round  here,"  intimated  Rob  ingratiatingly ;  "  I  always 
like  the  school  teacher  in  a  rural  play,  I  do — always 
fall  in  love  with  'em.  I  sh'd  think—" 

"  You  set  down  here  till  you  can  think  o'  something 
more  to  the  purpose,"  said  Mrs.  Byjo  shortly,  plump- 
ing a  chair  down  before  him.  "  I'm  a  woman  over 
forty.  An  you — ain't  you  proud  that  you're  goin' 
on  ten?  But  you're  a  thoughtful  boy,  that's  plain  to 
see,  you're  always  '  thinkin  '.  Now  you  set  down  there 
and  '  think '  what  kind  of  a  condition  you're  in  to  meet 
ladies,  whilst  we  go  on  getting  supper." 

What  Rob  thought  was  that  he  had  fallen  among 
exceedingly  ill-bred  people  in  grotesquely  sordid  sur- 
roundings. He  had  tried  to  mitigate  their  state  by 


52  POWER    LOT 

overlooking  their  poverty  and  ignorance  with  genial 
good-will,  and  instead  of  appreciating  it  they  took 
advantage  of  his  good  nature  to  make  a  butt  of  him. 
Very  well — he  mused  darkly — he  would  show  his  breed- 
ing through  all.  A  gentleman  could  not  do  otherwise. 
But  his  lip  curled  and  his  beautiful  eyes,  hollowed  by 
fatigue  and  dissipation,  glowed  sullenly. 

He  watched  the  women  get  supper.  Mary's  face 
was  very  sad.  She  was  strikingly  handsome,  in  a  far-off 
foreign  way.  But  she — who  was,  in  fact,  a  trifle 
younger  than  Rob — looked  very  old  to  him.  She  and 
Mrs.  By  jo  appeared  to  him  to  be  about  of  an  age.  He 
wished  heartily  that  there  might  be  some  young  and 
sparkling  life  about  him  at  that  moment,  and  he  sighed. 

Mrs.  By  jo  cast  a  hopeful  glance  at  him,  but  Mary 
had  had  deep  experience  of  cases  of  similar  ailment 
in  her  own  household,  and  she  knew  that  Rob's  mind 
was  simply  becoming  very  groggy.  She  made  a  cup 
of  strong  coffee  and  brought  it  to  him  with  her  own 
hand. 

"  Take  this  before  your  supper,"  she  said ;  "  you  must 
be  utterly  fatigued." 

Rob  rose  uncertainly,  and,  with  one  hand  seeking 
support  from  the  back  of  his  chair,  he  bowed  his  thanks 
as  he  accepted  the  draught. 

"  Some  young  men  who  have  had  wealth,"  said 
Mary,  in  her  low  deliberate  voice  that  smacked  so  of 
indifference  it  tended  to  rouse  him,  '*  enjoy  camping 
out  and  an  occasional  return  to  primitive  conditions. 
Whether  you  are  one  of  that  kind  or  not,  you  will  find 
that  it  is  practically  *  camping  out '  here,  and  the 
primitive  necessity  of  inventing  resources  for  existence." 


MARY    STINGAREE  53^ 

Rob  gulped  down  the  coffee  gratefully,  though  he 
remained  courteously  on  his  feet. 

"  New  York  City  's  good  'nough  for  me."  He  then 
smiled  at  her  vaguely.  "  Tell  you  the  truth,  Miss 
Sting'ree,  when  I  go  to  th'  country,  I  like — good  hotel 
— and  some  'musement.  You  look  's  though  you'd 
seen  bet — better  days  yourself,"  he  added  more  boldly, 
but  his  manner  was,  somehow,  inoffensive.  "  Tell  you 
the  truth — only  thing  this  place  is  fit  for — is  grave 
stones — and  I  wish  I  had  mine." 

"  Are  you  sure  you're  not  something  of  a  coward?  " 
There  was  fire,  as  well  as  kindness,  in  the  dark  eyes  at 
which  he  gazed  for  a  moment  steadily.  He  fancied 
there  was  a  smile  in  them,  too ;  he  endeavored  desper- 
ately to  ascertain  that  important  fact  through  his 
fixed  stare.  Then  his  contemplation  drifted  waveringly 
to  a  graying  lock  or  two  that  shone,  so  early,  in  the 
black  hair  on  her  temples. 

Mary  blushed.  She  knew  that  her  face  and  figure 
were  superb.  That  premature  tint  of  gray  was  a  little 
thorn,  even  to  her  high  mind. 

"  Robert,"  she  said,  accepting  quietly  the  supposi- 
tion of  superior  years,  while  a  faint  smile  touched  her 
lips,  "  I  shall  call  you  *  Robert ' — being  so  much  older 
than  you — but  I  prefer  that  you  should  call  me  *  Miss 
Stingaree,' — never  forget  that, — my  poor  mother  will 
never  walk  again  until  she  has  reached  the  '  place  of 
graves.'  She  has  been  waiting  to  meet  you:  a  new 
voice  and  presence  are  so  much  to  one  afflicted  as  she 
is.  She  cannot  see  you.  Do  you  mind  going  in  to 
speak  just  a  word  to  her?  " 

"  Why,  certainly,"  said  Rob,  absorbing  the  last  of 


54  POWER    LOT 

the  virile  potation  in  his  coffee  cup.     "  Certainly,  Mi 
Sting'ree.     D'lighted." 

Mary  opened  the  door  from  the  kitchen — which  was 
sitting-room  and  dining-room  also — into  a  bedroom 
adjoining. 

"  Here  is  Robert  Hilton,  Mother." 

"  Come  here,  Robert  Hilton,  let  me  look  at  you," 
said  the  sightless  old  woman,  from  where  she  sat 
propped  up  in  bed.  She  had  an  eager  air  of  expectancy. 

"  Mother  has  been  talking  all  day  of  your  coming," 
said  Mary. 

"  Let  me  take  a  good  long  look  at  you,  Robert 
Hilton,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Stingaree.  She  seemed  to 
study  his  face  with  her  large  unseeing  eyes,  brilliant  in 
their  natural  coloring,  while  the  touch  of  her  pale 
hand  reminded  him  disagreeably  of  the  tingling  of  an 
electric  battery.  Rob  hung  his  head  and  cast  down 
his  own  eyes  in  extreme  discomfort. 

"  He  is  noble,  noble,"  finally  declared  the  blind 
woman  to  Mary's  passive  amusement,  and  Rob's  un- 
speakable amaze.  "  Have  you  put  on  Aunt  Taylor 
Fleming's  teacup  for  him,  Mary,  and  my  Tower  spoon  ? 
You  haven't  half  set  the  table,  I'll  warrant.  Bring  out 
the  best  things,  girl.  Have  it  fine,  girl — fine.  Will 
you  ever  come  in  to  see  me,  I  wonder?  "  she  said  pet- 
tishly, turning  to  Rob ;  "  they  all  run  away  from  me." 

The  clear  annunciation  of  the  "  noble  **  was  still 
ringing  in  Rob's  befuddled  ears.  His  physical  being 
revolted  at  the  uncanny  prospect  of  another  entrance 
there ;  but  "  noble,"  "  noble,"  pealed  charmingly 
through  his  soporific  senses. 

"  Cert'nly,   madam,   I'll   come   in   to    see   you     with 


MARY    STINGAREE  55 

greates'  pleasure,  if  you'll  allow  me.  Pleasure  's  all 
on  my  side,  madam,  I  'ssure  you." 

"  Noble,"  once  more  muttered  the  old  woman,  her 
brief  moment  of  energy  fading  into  a  vague  relapse. 

"  Now,  just  a  moment — do  you  mind? — will  you 
come  and  see  my  brother  ?  "  said  Mary. 

"  All  these  s'prises — I  fancy  you're  tryin'  to  get 
me  able  to  stan'  on  my  feet  'fore  we  go  to  dinner," 
murmured  Rob  confidingly,  already  childishly  con- 
vinced that  deceit  or  any  affectation  of  it  might  as 
well  be  laid  by,  as  a  vain  and  useless  garment,  before 
Mary  Stingaree's  all-discerning  eyes.  "  'S  that  so, 
Miss  Sting'ree?  All  these  s'prises?  "  and  he  laughed 
feebly  and  approvingly. 

Mary  led  the  way  to  a  little  alcove,  which  still  further 
revealed  the  possibilities  of  the  "  kitchen."  There,  on 
a  lounge  half  concealed  behind  a  door,  lay  a  form, 
hitherto  unsuspected  of  Rob,  considering  his  own  state 
and  the  gruesomeness  of  these  altogether  novel  sur- 
roundings. 

"  This  is  my  brother  Bate,"  Mary  said.  "  He  has 
been  on  a  '  spree.'  "  She  spoke  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 
Rob  turned  to  her  with  a  sharp  look.  Her  face  was 
inscrutable.  "  He  is  only  twenty-seven — and  a  poor 
unshaven,  besotted  wreck  of  a  man,  as  you  see,  dead 
drunk." 

"  Where — where  did  he  get  it,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 
said  Rob,  with  innocent  cunning. 

Mary  smiled  wanly.  "  I  wonder,"  she  said,  "  if  you 
would  help  me  try  to  save  Bate?  " 

Rob's  views  on  this  subject  were  altogether  too  hazy 
and  confused  to  admit  of  framing  any  intelligible  reply. 


56  POWER    LOT 

He  waited  uneasily,  his  eye  wandering  toward  that  part 
of  the  kitchen  where  Mrs.  By  jo  was  stalking  about 
forcefully  among  the  pans  and  kettles. 

"  Yes,  we  will  go  and  have  some  supper,"  said  Mary ; 
but  she  still  stood  for  a  moment  close  at  her  brother's 
side.  There  was  a  singular  witchery  of  compelling 
power  about  her,  not  attractive  to  Rob,  but  effective, 
nevertheless ;  where  she  looked  he  felt  constrained  to 
look.  So  he  let  his  eye  wander  cursorily  again  over 
the  lamentable  figure  on  the  lounge.  "  He  was  such 
a  handsome  lad,"  the  sister  said.  Rob  felt  that  he  must 
look  at  her,  and  following  the  voiceless  behest,  he  did 
look  up  and  met  those  uncomfortably  thrilling  eyes 
again. 

"  I  expect  help  of  you"  she  said  quietly,  "  and  not 
an  added  care  and  sorrow.  I  have  all  that  I  can  do 
and  bear.  You  will  see  that.  This  is  all  unnecessary 
to  say,  however.  You  are  a  gentleman  born,  and  a 
gentleman  does  not  inflict  added  burden  and  trouble 
upon  an  already  overburdened  woman." 

The  concise,  cool  voice  stung  through  Rob's  senses. 
It  also  painted  a  picture  before  him  in  vivid,  inefface- 
able colors.  Whatever  he  thought,  whatever  he  did, 
the  picture  lasted.  That  was  Mary's  power. 

"  I  am  depending  upon  you,"  she  added  gently,  mov- 
ing away  with  him. 

Rob  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow. 

"  Oh,  h— 1,"  he  sighed  deeply. 

Mrs.  By  jo  offered  no  weak  solace  to  his  straits.  She 
unrolled  her  sleeves  and  buttoned  them  at  the  wrist, 
but  her  manner  was  rather  as  though  she  rolled  them 
up,  and  that  to  do  battle. 


MARY    STINGAREE  57 

"You  will  stay  and  take  tea  with  us,  Virginia?" 
Mary  pleaded. 

"  No,  Ma'y,  I  can't.  My  oxen  ain't  unyoked,  and 
my  cows  are  bawling  away,  over  thar',  with  stuck  ud- 
ders. I'll  come  over  when  I've  done  my  chores,  and 
keep  ye  company  if  ye  want  me  to.  Don't  blame  ye 
for  not  liking  to  be  left  alone,  considerin'  how  ye're 
fixed." 

Her  words  contributed  much  that  was  frankly  un- 
flattering to  Mary's  newly  acquired  guest,  but  Rob 
simply  gazed  at  her  in  amaze.  It  appeared  to  him  that 
Mary  Stingaree  was  trying  to  persuade  her  cook  to  sit 
down  at  the  table  with  her. 

"  I  hoped,"  continued  Mrs.  By  jo,  "  that  Jim  Tur- 
bine would  come  up  and  look  out  for  ye  this  evening, 
but  he's  hawking  it,  off  somewhere.  I'll  be  glad  to 
come  over  and  set  with  ye  after  I've  thrashed  around 
a  while  at  home." 

Rob  inferred  that  some  frailty,  or  lack  of  cordi- 
ality on  his  part,  had  prevented  Mary  having  the 
pleasure  of  her  rude  servant  to  dine  with  her. 

"  Take  my  chair,  Cook,"  he  cried  elaborately  yield- 
ing his  place.  "  I'll  go  get  another  chair.  All  sit 
together.  D'lighted." 

Mrs.  By  jo  wore  short  skirts;  her  hair  was  short; 
her  boots  declaimed  aloud  that  life  was  a  rough  and 
toilsome  journey.  She  took  the  oxwhip,  which  she 
always  carried  about  with  her,  from  a  corner  of  the 
room  and  snapped  its  lash  tentatively.  Then  she 
turned  to  Rob. 

"  My  ancestors  were  reigning  on  ducal  thrones," 
she  notified  him  in  very  correct  English,  "  when  yours, 


58  POWER    LOT 

probably,  were  inventing  some  new  kind  of  lager  beer. 
Good-night.  I'll  be  over  presently,  Ma'y." 

"  She  is  not  my  cook,"  said  Mary,  as  the  door  closed, 
"  she  is  my  neighbor,  who  came  over  to  help  me  out 
of  charity." 

Rob  was  very  red.  "  Excuse  me,  Miss  Sting'ree," 
said  he,  "  but  they're  a  dev'lish  queer  sort  'round  here. 
And  they  don't  like  me.  They  been  antag — tagonizin' 
me  from  the  start.  I  like  to  be  frien'ly.  They  won't 
be  frien'ly  with  me." 

"You  just  persevere,"  Mary  encouraged  him;  for, 
whatever  his  ancestry,  there  was  ingrained  in  him  at 
least  one  classic  tenet  of  good  breeding,  not  to  hurt  the 
feelings  of  others,  and  his  face  was  suffused  with 
regret  and  mortification.  Mary's  spirits,  as  a  practiced 
disciplinarian,  rose.  There  was,  evidently,  "  something 
to  get  hold  of  "  in  Rob's  nature. 

"  There  are  some  queer  sorts  that  you'll  find  it  is 
only  elevating,  after  all,  to  make  friends  with,"  she 
went  on  brightly.  "  You  won't  find,  the  world  over, 
a  heart  more  worthy  to  win  than  Virginia  Stafford's 
— sometimes  called  '  Mrs.  By  jo.'  And  by  the  way, 
her  line  is  traceable  from  the  very  grandest,  and  here 
she  is,  genuine,  away  off  here  in  Power  Lot  with  her 
rough  hands  and  her  oxwhip.  And  there's  James 
Turbine " 

Well,  I,  who  write  this,  am  picking  up  the  glad- 
somest  things  that  ever  befell,  along  with  the  rest ; 
and  I  heard  of  it,  what  Mary  said  about  me  there 
before  Rob.  I  don't  mind  being  the  kind  of  fool  that 
I've  done  it  up  in  blood-tissue,  and  tied  it  with  my 
heart-strings,  and  got  it  stowed  away  in  the  safe-de- 


MARY    STINGAREE  59 

posit  vault  that  I  shan't  lay  down  when  I  shuck  off 
my  old  body,  but  take  right  along  with  me  up  yonder 

— some  place  they  tell  of — where  the  angels  sing 

So  much  for  that. 

Ah,  but  Rob  had  the  chance — sitting  there  at  the 
table  alone  with  Mary;  and  he  so  broad  and  tall, 
above  most  men,  and  winsome  handsome,  and  clad  in 
such  high  fashion;  he  had  the  chance  to  put  in  a 
promising  lick  of  courting.  He  could  not  even  see 
straight.  It  crossed  his  mind  that  he  wished  a  certain 
light-footed  lady,  whom  he  had  frequently  met  con- 
vivially  in  New  York,  were  opposite  him,  in  the  place 
of  "  the  old  maid,"  as  he  mentally  denominated  Mary 
Stingaree.  Treating  him  as  an  inferior,  too,  with  her 
lofty  manner,  he  soliloquized,  maudlin-childish.  He 
wished  she  might  see  the  dining-room  in  his  own  house 
at  home.  He  tried  to  recover  pride;  then  stared  stu- 
pidly at  his  soup. 

That  article  of  diet,  always  strained,  and  frequently 
accentuated  with  the  flavor  of  wine,  amid  the  niceties 
of  his  past  existence,  and  served,  too,  only  as  a  mere 
preliminary  to  his  dinner,  now  appeared  to  constitute 
the  whole  repast,  and  reeled  before  him  in  a  conflict- 
ing strata  of  visible  onions  and  carrots.  Its  odor 
was  wholly  seductive,  and  Rob  was  greedily  hungry. 
He  did  not  even  stop  to  butter  his  bread,  but  drew  off 
one  brown  slice  after  another  from  the  plate,  and  de- 
voured the  carroty  stew  with  a  resolute  simple  devotion 
to  the  business  in  hand. 

Mary,  for  her  part,  seemed  contented  with  silence, 
her  thoughts  adequate  to  her  own  entertainment.  Rob 
was  grateful  for  her  apparent  absent-mindedness  and 


60  POWER    LOT 

for  the  prolonged  withdrawal  of  her  disquieting  eyes. 
He  had  another  re*solve;  to  retreat  before  the  arrival 
of  Mrs.  Byjo  and,  also,  of  that  sleep  which  he  already 
felt  creeping  in  upon  him  at  every  pore. 

"  If  you'll  excuse  me,  Miss  Sting'ree,"  he  said  ris- 
ing, plainly  but  fully  gorged,  "  I'll  retire,  with  your 
p'mission.  I'm  beas — beas'ly — tired — 'pon  my  word." 

Mary  handed  him  a  candle.  By  its  small  glow  he 
lumbered  up  the  little  stairway  and  turned  into  his 
room.  At  the  door-end  of  his  apartment  he  could 
stand  erect,  thereafter  the  ceiling  sloped  down  into 
ultimate  extinction.  There  was  one  chair,  a  wooden 
washstand,  a  bit  of  a  round  table,  topped  by  a  Bible — 
and  there  was  his  bed. 

The  one  window  was  wide  open.  He  shivered  as  he 
crept  up  to  it.  In  the  moonlight  beyond,  all  the  majesty 
of  earth  lay  stretched  before  him:  loud  ocean,  priestly 
heights,  vast  sleeping  forests,  strange,  omnipotent,  ap- 
palling— he  shrank  back  with  a  shudder,  only  to  face 
again  the  ignominy  and  desolation  of  his  room. 

"  Oh,  my  God,"  he  almost  sobbed.  "  Penned  in  this 
shanty,  at  the  rough  end  of  Nothing  and  Nowhere. 
I  wonder  if  they  have  been  fooling  me :  I  wonder  if  my 
fortune  is  really  lost."  He  ground  his  teeth.  "  I  wish 
I  hadn't  been  such  a  d — n  fool  as  not  to  keep  straight 
'nough  to  know  what  I  was  about — an'  what — what 
they  was  about.  I'll  die — die,  in  this  mis-rable  place, 
an'  I  know  it.  Well,  I'll  forget  my  sor — sorrows,  one 
night,  anyhow." 

He  drained  his  last  bottle  to  the  last  drop  and  then 
threw  himself  on  the  bed.  "  What  kind  o'  mattress 
is  this,  I  wonder?  "  He  fumbled  with  drunken  curios- 


MARY    STINGAREE  61 

ity.  "  Straw.  Plain  long  sticks  o'  straw.  Hors — 
horses  usu'ly  lay  on  straw.  Nev'  mind." 

At  this  point  he  viewed  the  matter  in  a  facetious 
light,  and  fell  asleep  with  sniggers  of  intoxicated 
mirth. 

Mary  fed  her  mother  the  last  time  for  that  night: 
then  endeavored,  unsuccessfully,  to  rouse  Bate  from 
his  bibulous  slumbers.  The  drunken  snores  of  her 
brother  below  mingled  with  the  now  entirely  drunken 
snores  of  Rob  from  above. 

The  beneficent  Mrs.  By  jo  appeared  in  due  time. 

"  By  Jo,  Ma'ry,"  she  said,  harkening,  "  if  your  cup 
ain't  full.  Full  o'  sots.  Well,  they're  out  of  mischief 
for  to-night,  anyhow." 

Mary  had  finished  her  housework  for  the  night.  She 
looked  weary  enough,  and  pale,  but  her  eyes  were  not 
of  the  sort  that  faded,  they  were  extremely  wide  awake. 
A  purpose — a  hope  to  save — burned  in  them,  that  made 
them  as  if  they  kept  company  apart  in  some  realm 
where  heroes  wrestle  and  strive,  and  mind  not  death, 
but  only  to  strive  well.  Not  death,  nor  even  defeat,  but 
only  to  strive  to  the  utmost ;  that  was  the  realm  she 
was  growing  to  live  in,  though  she  was  a  proud  woman 
and  had  trained  early  for  victory.  We're  usually 
pretty  well  toward  the  west  of  our  life-journey  when 
we  don't  mind  triumph  or  reward  so  much  as  just  only 
to  do  our  work  well,  and  get  so  absorbed  in  that  busi- 
ness that  hopeless  tasks,  even,  take  on  the  garb  of  cer- 
tain execution  sometime. 

Mary — she'd  lived  a  long  time  in  few  years,  or  else 
the  biggest  empire  of  all  was  born  in  her — to  run  the 
race,  to  fight  the  battle  without  flinching,  and  then  to 


62  POWER    LOT 

"  call  it  a  day,"  and  a  glad  day,  and  a  good  one,  though 
it  rained  from  dawn  to  sunset,  with  black  thunderbolts 
thrown  in.  She  looked  out  from  her  window,  too,  and 
drank  in  the  scene,  familiar  as  it  was,  with  an  esctasy 
of  awe;  and  lingered,  as  if  some  Great  Soul,  out  there 
in  the  wastes,  were  offering  her  unspeakable  bread 
and  wine. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE    TIDE    MAKES    IN 

A  BLEAK  misery  benumbed  Rob,  when  he  awoke  next 
morning.  The  little  old  house  and  its  vicinity  rattled 
with  all  the  noises  of  stirring  morning-life  on  a  farm 
— and  the  sort  of  farm,  too,  where,  with  all  hands  from 
bleating  calf  to  quacking  duck,  food  and  joy  were 
sometimes  largely  a  matter  of  speculation. 

Cowbells  and  dishes,  pigs  and  hens  sang  together  in 
untrained  symphony;  and,  in  visible  smoke-wraiths, 
through  the  cracks  of  the  door,  crept  the  sturdy  at- 
mosphere of  frying  home-cured  ham. 

Rob  threw  off  his  many-hued  bedquilts  with  disgust, 
and,  as  a  morning  orison,  sadly,  and  with  a  cunning  air 
of  discretion,  locked  away  his  empty  bottle. 

"  Mustn't  let  the  dark-eyed  preacher-lady  find  that," 
he  said;  for  he  had  in  general  a  great  notion  of  mak- 
ing even  his  speech  jolly.  "  Not  till  I  get  away.  Go- 
ing to  get  away  from  here  to-day  somehow;  going  to 
start  back  to  New  York." 

At  the  thought  his  motions  took  on  a  more  sprightly 
manner,  and  he  greeted  the  "  dark-eyed  preacher-lady  " 
quite  cheerfully  at  breakfast.  Her  face  wore  a  con- 
tented expression,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  I  believed  the 
gentleman  in  you  would  conquer."  So  Rob  interpreted 
it,  and  he  rose  to  the  occasion. 

Bate,   resuscitated,   came   in   from   milking  and   sat 


64  POWER    LOT 

at  the  table  speechlessly.  He  wore  a  clean  collar,  which 
apology  had  to  condone  the  rest  of  his  appearance:  he 
seemed  entirely  satisfied  that  it  did  so,  troubling  him- 
self with  nothing  save  a  rapid  sour-faced  consumption 
of  food.  Once  only  he  spoke,  and  that  without  looking 
up,  without  even  the  lifting  of  an  eyelash;  it  was  a 
loud  and  harsh  mandate  of  reproach  to  the  world  at 
large : 

"  Pass  the  butter." 

After  breakfast  Mary  took  Rob  out  to  show  him 
his  portion  of  land. 

"  Of  course,  as  you  know,  you  must  plow  this," 
she  said.  "  The  season  is  early,  for  this  climate. 
What  a  glorious  day  it  is !  You  may  have  the  oxen 
to  use  for  your  plowing  this  morning." 

Rob  made  one  of  his  courtliest  bows,  entirely  dis- 
posed to  put  Mary  off  her  guard: 

"  You  are  most  kind,  Miss  Stingaree." 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  yoke  the  oxen  to  the  plow  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  I  shall  manage  with  ease.  Thanks. 
Thanks,  very  much,  Miss  Stingaree." 

Mary,  who  was,  if  the  truth  must  be  known,  about 
as  pliant  and  romantic  a  farmer  as  Rob  himself,  went 
into  the  house.  Rob  made  a  virtuous  show  of  walking 
toward  the  barnyard  where  the  oxen  stood.  He  saw 
Bate,  tinkering  with  real  skill  and  ingenuity,  over  a 
gate  which  the  wind  had  dislodged  and  broken.  Bate 
did  not  look  up,  and  Rob  marched  deliberately  out  of 
sight,  with  the  absorbing  purpose  of  counting  his 
money  in  solitude.  He  searched  his  pockets  and  the 
contents  of  his  purse  with  feverish  anxiety,  for  he 
had  an  impression — nay,  he  recalled  clearly  now  the 


THE    TIDE    MAKES    IN  65 

reckless  dissipation  which  had  marked  the  progress 
of  his  overland  journey  to  Waldeck;  the  night  at  St. 
Frederick's  especially,  where  he  had  stopped  to  enjoy 
the  jovial  companionship  of  some  chance  acquaintances, 
and  had  spent  the  night  in  uproarious  drinking  and 
gambling. 

He  searched  himself,  therefore,  with  feverish  haste, 
and  stood  appalled,  open-mouthed,  at  the  result:  Two 
dollars  and  sixteen  cents.  The  fare  alone  to  New 
York,  without  the  usual  extravagant  and  luxurious 
accessories  which  he  employed  in  traveling,  was  fifty- 
five  dollars. 

Rob  researched  his  pockets,  the  deep  crannies  of 
his  folding  billhook,  the  lining  of  his  purse,  his  huge 
overcoat  pockets,  his  inner  vest  pockets :  three  ciga- 
rettes, one  match,  his  handkerchief,  his  cardcase,  and 
two  dollars  and  sixteen  cents;  and  searching  till 
doomsday  could  produce  no  more. 

"  Lord,  what  a  fool  I  was."  Rob  gritted  his  teeth, 
struck  the  match,  and  almost  swallowed  the  smoke  from 
his  cigarette,  as  a  man  snatching  wildly  at  his  last 
gasp  of  elysium. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  what  a  dense  fool,  fool,  fool,  I've  been. 
Didn't  even  put  in  a  supply  of  cigarettes.  Nothing 
to  drink,  no  cigars,  no  money  to  light  out  with — what 
an  ass  I  must  'a'  made  o'  myself  on  the  way.  What  an 
idiotic  fool  ass?  What  in  h— 1  '11  I  do?  What  '11  I 
do?  What '11  I  do?" 

What  he  did  was  to  make  his  way  desperately  down 
through  the  woods  to  the  shore,  straight  for  a  vessel 
which  some  men  were  loading  with  wood. 

"  Fine  boat,"  said  Rob  critically  and  ingratiatingly, 


66  POWER    LOT 

putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets  with  a  nonchalant  air, 
though  he  was  suspiciously  out  of  breath. 

"  Fine  nawthin',"  bellowed  the  familiar  voice  of  Cap- 
tain Belcher.  "  She's  the  contrariest  old  sucker  't 
ever  run  her  nozzle  through  salt  water.  Durn  old  suer- 
cide.  I've  a  good  mind  ter  let  'er  rip  next  time  she 
goes  smellin'  'round  for  a  ledge  ter  stave  'er  ribs  into." 

"  Pshaw,  I  wish  I  owned  her.  She  looks  very  fine 
to  me,"  said  Rob,  with  truth  and  diplomacy  combined. 
"  I  see  that  her  name  is  '  Leevya  Potter.'  It's  a  pretty 
name.  Very." 

"  She'll  leave  ye,  all  right,"  responded  Captain 
Belcher,  "  she'll  leave  ye  go  to  pot ;  oh,  she's  the 
*  Leevya  Potter,'  all  right." 

The  men  guffawed  in  appreciation. 

"  I  think  it's  too  bad  to  talk  that  way  about  a  nice 
boat  like  that,"  Rob  pursued  his  devoted  way.  "  Looks 
to  me  like  first-class  wood  you're  loading  there.  Going 
to  the  States,  of  course?  Looks  as  though  you'd  be 
all  ready  to  sail  in  an  hour  or  so  now?  " 

The  men  looked  with  simple  curiosity  at  this  anomaly 
of  an  astute  New  Yorker. 

"  By  Tar  an'  Bloaters,  Daisy  Lee,"  roared  Captain 
Belcher ;  "  why,  you're  goin'  to  have  the  Leevya  Pot- 
ter for  a  pleasin'  dot  on  the  lan'scape  fer  a  long  whiles 
to  come.  Great  Tamarack !  she  ain't  half  loaded.  We 
got  ter  finish  our  plowin'  an'  haul  thirty  cord  more 
o'  birch  over  from  Owl's  Head,  an'  make  a  new  main 
boom  an'  rudder  for  'er  afore  she's  ready.  Don't  you 
werry  about  the  Leevya  Potter,  Daisy.  She's  goin'  to 
look  *  purty  '  to  ye  an'  she's  goin'  to  look  *  nice '  to 
ye  layin'  here  on  her  old  eel-trap  o'  a  bottom  fer  a 


THE    TIDE    MAKES    IN  67 

long  whiles  to  come.  *  Hour  or  so  '  ! — the  Leevja 

Potter! Don't  say  a  word — I  got  wore  out  with 

one  circus  yisterday,  an'  I'm  tendin'  to  business  to-day 
strictly." 

He  directed  some  wood  toward  the  hold  of  the  Leevya 
with  the  energy  of  a  giant  and  shouted  his  orders  to 
his  men. 

Rob  longed  for  the  retinue  which  but  a  few  short 
days  before  it  had  been  in  his  power  to  call  together, 
to  punish  and  humiliate  this  coarse  offender.  The 
main  thing  in  his  consciousness,  however,  was  to  get 
a  passage,  somehow,  back  to  Waldeck,  as  his  starting 
place  for  the  journey  home.  He  swallowed  his  pride, 
he  buried  his  resentment.  It  was  on  his  tongue  to 
say :  "  I  will  give  you  the  worth  of  the  whole  cargo 
if  you'll  sail  me  over  to  Waldeck  station  " ;  but  his 
fingers  felt  despairingly  only  the  two  dollars  and  six- 
teen cents  in  his  pocket. 

"  Wonder,"  said  Rob,  in  his  lion-like  pursuance  of 
affability,  amid  the  crash  of  lading  wood,  "  wonder  if 
there  are  any  smaller  boats  'long  shore  here,  as — as 
seaworthy  as  this  one?  " 

"  Jim's  got  a  top-notcher,"  observed  one  who  spoke, 
but  did  not  consider  the  question  of  consequence  enough 
to  turn  his  head. 

"  Where  is  Jim?  "  Rob  called  cheerfully  amid  the  din. 

"  Gone  'round  the  Gut  fishin'." 

"Where  is  the 'Gut'?" 

"  'Way  off  yander  whar'  ye  kin  jist  see  the  big  ledges 
buttin'  out." 

"  Looks  a  mile  or  so  away,"  Rob  suggested  hopefully. 

"  The  Gut's  six  mild  away." 


68  POWER    LOT 

Rob  strolled  on.  Out  of  sight  of  the  men,  around 
a  bend  of  the  shore,  his  head  drooped. 

"  Better  place  to  die  down  here  by  the  water,  any- 
way," he  muttered ;  "  not  so  dizzy." 

He  sat  down  on  a  crystallized  spar,  leaning  over,  his 
head  in  his  hands,  watching  the  incoming  tide.  After 
a  while  he  was  conscious  that  two  boys  had  seated  them- 
selves silently  on  two  bowlders,  one  on  either  side  of  him, 
intimately  close.  They  were  both  whittling  absorbedly. 

The  younger  one,  conscious  that  Rob  was  astir,  said 
monotonously,  without  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  ar- 
tistry of  his  jackknife: 

"  Kind  o'  funny,  too,  the  way  the  tide  makes  in  here, 
ain't  it?  " 

Rob  made  no  reply.  The  older  boy  offered  no  sug- 
gestions. The  speaker  had  not  expected  a  reply; 
apparently,  he  was  entirely  without  grudge  or  dis- 
appoinment  at  this  lack  of  recognition  of  his  subject. 
He  whittled  on. 

After  a  while  the  younger  boy  spake  again  in  the 
same  dispassionate  tone: 

"  Lon  Garby  trapped  a  b'ar  up  back  thar*  a  mild 
in  the  woods  last  night." 

He  whittled  on. 

After  a  long  interval,  the  peace  of  which  was  made 
more  profound  by  the  monody  of  the  waves,  he  said 
once  more: 

"  Kind  o*  funny,  too,  the  way  the  tide  makes  in  here, 
ain't  it?" 

Rob  spoke,  the  seething  of  the  brine  answering  the, 
bitterness  of  despair  in  his  own  soul: 

"  It  is    indeed — excruciatingly  ludicrous." 


THE    TIDE    MAKES    IN  69 

Both  boys  whittled  on  in  the  same  unperturbed, 
stolid  content.  In  due  time  the  younger  spake  again: 

"Old  man  Trawles  is  courtin'  Widder  Treet  up 
to  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us.  Nell  an'  Gid  runs  arfter 
him  ter  git  him  home,  but  he  slopes  'round  the  lots 
like  a  fox  chasin'  arfter  a  woodchuck — so  my  folks 
was  tellin'.  Mis'  Trawles  ain't  two  months  in  her 
coffing — so  my  folks  was  tellin'." 

He  whittled  on. 

"  Do  you  boys  know  of  any  way  to  get  over  to 
Waldeck  station?"  said  Rob. 

"  In  all  my  lifetime,"  said  the  younger  boy  (he  was 
twelve),  "  in  all  my  lifetime  I  never  yit  cruised  over  t' 
Waldeck." 

He  whittled  on. 

"  Once,"  spake  the  elder  boy,  laying  aside  one  fin- 
ished piece  of  carving  and  reaching  among  a  pile  of 
driftwood  for  further  crude  material,  "  once,  I  went 
with  father  to  Waldeck.  Father  hugged  shore  too 
clost  comin'  home,  an'  we  run  aground  off  thar'  by 
Pin'cle  Ledge,  an'  I  walked  seven  mild  around  the 
shore  home.  Father — he  waited  f'r  the  tide." 

They  both  whittled. 

"  Kind  o'  funny,  too,"  the  younger  boy  mused  aloud, 
and  interrogatively,  "  the  way  the  tide  makes  in  here, 
ain't  it?" 

"  It  surely  is  jocular  to  an  unprecedented  degree," 
said  Rob. 

"  Twelve  hours,  makin'  and  goin',"  continued  the 
younger,  conscientiously  completing  his  sentimental 
theme.  "  Six  hours  she  takes  ter  ebb  out,  an'  six  hours 
she  takes  ter  make  in.  Kind  o'  funny,  too — " 


70  POWER    LOT 

"  I've  already  expressed,  as  well  as  I  know  how,  my 
sense  of  the  extreme  gleefulness  of  the  business,"  Rob 
interrupted,  his  eyes  black  and  savage  with  misery. 

The  boys  whittled  on,  undisturbed  and  unembittered. 
The  younger  spake: 

"  Got  an  order  f'r  a  mess  o'  clams  off  Ma'y  Sting'ree. 
Guess  I'll  hike  off  an'  rake  'em  up  'fore  the  tide  makes 
in  too  fur." 

He  folded  up  his  knife ;  laid,  un regretfully,  the  treas- 
ures of  his  patient  toil  to  be  swallowed  up  of  the  next 
seamaw  on  the  beach  and  rose;  the  older  boy  followed 
his  example.  As  informally  as  they  had  come  they 
trudged  away,  around  a  bend  to  the  flats.  Rob  was 
alone  again,  but  not  for  long. 

With  a  hoe  over  one  shoulder  and  a  bucket  of  clams 
weighing  down  the  other  slender  arm,  came  Cleota 
Thibault  homeward,  singing,  along  the  beach.  She 
had  on  a  blue  skirt,  a  pink  waist,  a  green  apron,  and  a 
boy's  brown  soft  felt  hat ;  that  last  was  the  sorrow  of 
this  occasion  to  the  girl,  for  Cleota  had  a  new  Sunday 
hat,  and  she  loved  it  with  a  sort  of  tender  human  love ; 
she  had  stood  dandling  it  that  very  morning,  riven  of 
heart  desiring  to  wear  it,  even  clamming;  but  pru- 
dence had  finally  conquered,  and  that  of  Clcota's  own 
volition,  for  she  had  neither  mother  nor  any  other 
female  relative  to  act  as  guardian  over  her,  poor  lass. 
And  now  here  she  was  in  the  old  brown  felt,  and  there 
was  the  beautiful  aristocratic  new  young  man — who 
had  come  to  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us — disclosed  before 
her  on  the  beach.  She  ceased  her  song  and  made  haste 
to  get  past  unobserved. 

Now  what  Rob  noted  first  in  the  luminous  picture 


THE    TIDE    MAKES    IN  71 

of  health  and  color  which  she  made  against  the  cold 
gray  of  the  ocean  was  the  admirable  setting  afforded  by 
the  dull  old  hat  for  her  bright  brown  curls,  her  bright 
brown  eyes,  and  the  glow  of  her  countenance — a  living 
bloom  which  made  the  blue  skirt,  the  pink  waist,  and 
all  the  other  colors  tame  in  comparison.  The  young 
man  cleared  his  sorrowful  throat,  sighed  deeply,  and 


Cleota  heard  the  sigh,  stole  a  sidelong  glance,  and 
beheld  the  dreary  despair  of  his  attitude.  Humanity 
conquered  vanity. 

"  Don't  you  think  you're  goin'  to  like  it  over  to 
Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  Mr.  Lee?  May  be  you  like 
it  better  down  to  Bear  River  where  me — I  live?  "  she 
added  innocently.  It  was  evident  that  Captain  Belch- 
er's invention  of  "  Daisy  Lee  "  had  spread  trustfully 
abroad  in  Bear  River. 

"  My  name  is  Robert  Hilton,"  Rob  answered  drear- 
ily, almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  while  his  lip  curled 
with  mortification  and  anger. 

Cleota  put  down  her  hoe  and  her  bucket  of  clams. 

"  You  mus'  not  mind,  Mr.  Hilton,"  said  she,  ap- 
proaching a  step  or  two.  "  All  the  folks  'roun'  here — 
they  call  other  folks  them  comical  names.  They  call 
me  '  Cuby'." 

"Why?" 

"  Wa-a-al,"  said  she,  drawling  a  serious  though  de- 
licious adaptation  of  the  common  idiom ;  "  wa-a-al, 
firs'  they  did  call  me  '  Cloves  '  for  Cleota,  then  '  Cinna- 
mon,' then  '  Allspice,'  an'  sometimes  '  Pepper,'  an'  now 
they  call  me  '  Cuby '  for  good  an'  all,  because  all  them 
things  grows  in  Cuby,  don't  you  think?  " 


72  POWER    LOT 

"  You  are  tropical  in  beauty,  that  is  sure.  You 
have  so  much  of  it,  I  mean,"  said  Rob.  "  What  may  / 
call  you?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  I  shall  call  you  Mister  Hilton,  and 
you  call  me  Miss  Thibault.  It  is  pronounce'  Tee-bo. 
It  is  French.  My  father  is  French,  but  me — I  am 
American.  I  was  born  to  Bear  River." 

"  Bear  River  was  very  lucky  to  have  you  born  to  it," 
asserted  Rob,  now  with  genuine  warmth.  Then  the 
monologue  of  his  thoughts  reasserted  itself : 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  way  I  could  get  over  to  Wai- 
deck,  Miss  Tee-bo?" 

Cuby  shook  her  head.  In  the  first  place  she  did  not 
want  him  to  go;  in  the  second  place  she  was  fully  de- 
termined he  never  should  go  until  he  had  seen  that 
Sunday  hat. 

"  My  father  is  not  a  fisherman,"  she  said,  tossing  her 
head.  "  He  have  no  boat.  My  father  has  a  team  of 
two  horses  an'  a  very  strong  harness,  cost  him  feefty 
dollar.  My  father's  business  is  a  haulin'  wood.  Cap'n 
Jim  Turbine — he  came  to  my  father  to  hire  him  to  meet 
the  vessel  when  she  come  in,  an'  haul  up  you  an'  them 
trunks.  My  father,  he  would  not  do  so — he  like  so 
much  better,  you  see,"  said  Cuby,  with  blushing  apol- 
ogy, "  to  haul  the  wood." 

She  had  been  constantly  drawing  nearer  to  him,  with 
the  feminine  compassion  for,  and  authority  over,  a 
handsome  young  man  in  affliction.  Now,  she  sat  down 
on  the  bowlder  where  the  younger  boy  had  been. 

"There — is — no — way?"  said  Rob  slowly,  his 
strained  blue  eyes  looking  out  to  sea. 

"You  look  a'  me,  Mister  Hilton,"  said  Cuby,  the 


THE    TIDE    MAKES    IN  73 

bashful  maiden  no  longer,  but  suddenly  become  a  guide 
and  monitress  under  the  drift  and  leveling  of  circum- 
stance. She  shook  a  small  brown  finger  at  him.  "  You 
look  a'  me,  an'  mind  what  I  say,  everything." 

Rob  turned  his  wistful  eyes  to  her  appealingly. 

"You  don't  like  it  very  well  there  where  you  come 
to  live.  I  do'n'  blame  you.  Ma'y  Sting'ree,  she's 
a  proud,  stuck-up,  hotty  ol'  Baptis',  that's  what 
she  is." 

"  I  guess  you're  right,"  said  Rob  wonderingly ; 
"  what  makes  her  a  Baptis'  ?  " 

"  'Cause  she  sings  so  loud  in  the  meet'n.  Me — I  go 
to  meet'n',  but  I  make  myself  very  still  an'  very  far 
back  in  the  meet'n'house.  The  meet'n'house  is  a  hoty 
place,"  said  Cuby,  as  if  speaking  by  rote,  her  eyes 
downcast,  her  little  hand  stroking  the  blue  skirt  softly. 

Rob  was  entranced. 

"  You  could  sing  as  loud  as  she  if  you  tried,  I  bet," 
he  said  gracefully ;  "  couldn't  you  ?  " 

"Wa-a-al,  by  tarn,  I  ain't  sayin'  nothin',"  replied 
Cuby,  with  that  utter  colloquialism  into  which  she 
sometimes  sweetly  and  unconsciously  relapsed.  But  her 
manner  left  the  fact  of  her  musical  ability  to  remain 
undisputed. 

Like  a  fretful  child,  Rob's  mind  again  reverted  to 
his  woes : 

"  You  don't  know  of  any  way,  Cuby — dear — for  me 
to  get  over  to  Waldeck?  " 

"  Rober',  no,  I  do'n'  know  any  way,  an'  I  think  you 
make  yourself  a  fool  to  not  think  o'  nothin'  but  jus' 
tryin'  to  get  back  where  you  come  from.  Why  don't 
you  be  sma-art — smarrt,  Rober'  ?  " 


74  POWER    LOT 

Robert  gazed  at  her  animated  face  in  dismay,  and 
made  no  reply. 

"  If  I  was  you  I  would  make  the  bluff — I  would.  I 
would  show  them  how  I  was  smarrt — smarrt!  " 

'*  You  wouldn't  have  to  make  any  bluff  to  show  that," 
said  Robert,  at  attention,  for  her  radiant  face  was 
very  bewitching. 

"  Me — I  would  show  them.  Now,  lis'n — they  all 
lookin'  to  see  you  run  away  or  make  yourself  a  fool. 
I  hear  them  talk,  so  I  know  what  it  is  they  think.  And 
you,  Rober',  you  are  big  an'  strong  an'  more  good- 
lookin'  as  any  of  them.  You  jus'  make  the  bluff,  go 
do  the  farming  an'  get  the  money,  so  then  you  can 
go  away — if  you  wish.  Make  the  big  bluff,  an'  be  like 
you  was  smarrt." 

"  I  can't  get  any  money  farming,  Cuby,"  said  Rob 
altogether  despondent.  "  I  don't  know  how.  I,  driv- 
ing those  horned  beasts  up  and  down  that  infernal 
precipice !  It  makes  me  sick,  even  just  crawling  up  an' 
down  there  on  foot.  It's  awful,  and  the  house  is 
awful.  I  wish — I  wish  I  was  dead !  " 

A  cold  little  wind-reddened  hand  crept  over  and  laid 
itself  for  the  brief  space  of  an  instant  on  Rob's  hand. 

"  Rober',  it's  hard  for  you  losin'  your  fine  'ome  what 
you  had,  an'  all  your  big  pile  o'  money.  But  now  you 
min'  me,  an'  all  shall  be  well,  I  tell  you;  jus'  you  make 
the  big  bluff." 

"  Cuby,"  said  Robert,  detaining  the  small  hand,  and. 
to  make  sure  of  detaining  it,  he  groaned  again  aloud, 
"  I  wish  I  was  dead." 

"  There's  a  road — not  so  steep,"  said  Cuby.  "  You 
seen  where  they  loadin'  the  'Leevya'? — wa-a-al,  over 


THE    TIDE    MAKES    IN  75 

the  other  side  the  River  there's  another  road  begins 
there,  an'  it  goes  up  to  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  jus' 
the  same,  but  it  winds  aroun'  and'  aroun',  a  way  not 
near  so  steep.  Now,  it  is  too  late  to-day,  but  to- 
morrow you  put  on  the  big  bluff  an'  make  mad  at 
everybody,  an'  go  yoke  Ma'y  Sting'ree's  oxen,  an'  drive 
them  yourself  with  the  big  talk  what  they  always  talks 
at  oxen;  an'  you  come  down  here  with  them  an'  get 
some  rock-weed  for  to  dress  your  land.  That  is  the 
first  thing  to  begin  to  farm." 

"  Rock-weed  to  dress  the  land.  See  here,  Cuby,  I'm 
having  enough  to  try  me  without  you  putting  me  up 
to  any  funny  business.  The  blame'  old  land  is  too 
much  dressed  with  *  rocks  '  and  *  weeds  '  already." 

Cuby  laughed  with  merry  indulgence.  "  Me  an'  my 
father,  we  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  f armin',  neither ; 
but  I  see  them  what  they  do.  They  haul  up  the  rock- 
weed  for  to  spread  over  the  land,  and,  also,  they  haul 
up  of  the  fish-gurry." 

"  Let  them,"  said  Rob ;  "  it  makes  me  sick  to  think 
of  it.  You  don't  suppose  I'm  going  around  accumu- 
lating that  sort  of  fragrance  on  my  person,  do  you? 
Why,  my  very  boots  would  smell." 

"  Aha !  "  cried  Cuby  through  her  laughter,  shaking 
at  him  a  finger  sapient  with  agricultural  lore,  however 
accidentally  acquired ;  "  but  you  mus'.  If  you  make 
not  the  ground  to  smell,  then  you  shall  have  no  pota- 
toes. Sure.  'Tis  so.  My  father,  he  hauls  wood  an' 
burns  the  charcoal — he  is  no  farmer,  but  I  have  seen 
them,  what  they  do.  They  haul  all  that  makes  a  rot," 
admitted  Cuby  confidentially,  and  lifting  her  dainty 
nose  in  execration,  "  an'  with  it  they  make  the  stinkin' 


76  POWER   LOT 

ground.  Also,  you  mus'  do  so,  an'  you  mus'  not  mind, 
for  if  you  have  not  the  stinkin'  ground  then  you  shall 
have  no  potatoes." 

Rob  listened  in  astound  and  admiration.  Her  face 
was  as  fair  as  a  flower,  her  teeth  were  as  white  as  pure 
linen  seven  times  washed. 

"  I  think  I  shall  take  your  advice,"  he  considered 
aloud,  "  provided  you  will  keep  on  advising  me." 

"  Sure,"  said  Cuby  competently,  "  I  shall  always  tell 
you  what  to  do  next — and  may  be  you  will  have  good 
potatoes,  an'  then  they  shall  not  make  fun  at  you." 

"  Will  you  show  me  how  to  get  rock-weed  and  fish- 
gurry?"  Rob  soliloquized  audibly,  inclining  ever  to 
Cuby  as  the  sole  point  of  effulgence  left  in  a  cold  and 
dreary  world. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you,  I  shall  tell  you  everything  you 
shall  do,  so  they  shall  not  make  a  laugh  at  you?  But 
you — you  mus'  make  the  big  bluff  at  them — or  it  shall 
all  be  no  good."  She  sighed. 

"  It  won't  make  people  talk  unkindly  about  you?  " 
said  Rob. 

"  No,  for  I  am  good.  Some  is  bad :  about  them  is 
talk.  But  me — no.  I  am  good.  My  father  an'  Cap'n 
Jim  Turbine,  they  tarn  to  hell  anybody  w'at  talk  about 
me,"  concluded  Cuby  with  placid  satisfaction. 

"Good,"  said  Rob,  "you're  all  right.  I  wonder 
if  I  could  find  somebody  to  take  charge  of  my  charac- 
ter. Well,  never  mind.  I  think  you  are  saving  my 
life  and  reason.  At  what  time  will  you  be  here  to- 
morrow morning  to  meet  me?  " 

"  Nine  o'clock.  You  got  to  'ump  yourself  an'  git 
a  move  on  to  make  a  farm." 


THE    TIDE    MAKES    IN  77 

"  I'm  used  to  sleeping  late,  but  I  don't  care  how  soon 
I  get  out  of  that  old  Samanthy-Tildy-Ann  bedquilt  of 
a  room  of  mine." 

"  Ma'y  Sting'ree  is  a  nice  housekeeper,"  declared 
Cuby  virtuously. 

"  She's  an  old  hen  of  a  schoolteacher,  that's  what 
she  is,"  replied  Rob. 

Cuby's  heart  leaped  and  she  adjudged  it  safe  to  ex- 
periment still  further  with  the  function  of  justice: 

"  Ma'y  Sting'ree  is  only  twenty-five." 

"  She  has  lied  about  her  age,  then.  She  is  forty,  if 
she's  a  day." 

Cuby  ceased  temporizing  further  in  Mary's  behalf, 
and  laughed  with  a  joyful  sympathy  she  could  not 
conceal.  Rob  seemed  to  her  a  beautiful  young  man. 
There  was  a  cut  to  his  clothes  and  a  general  air  about 
him  that  was  foreign  and  adorable.  He  had  the  blue 
eyes  and  the  fair  mustache  of  that  hero  in  her  fa- 
vorite novel — the  one  who  leaped  to  the  ninth  floor  of 
the  burning  tenement  and  rescued  "  Alva,"  the  factory 
girl,  to  whom  he  was  secretly  betrothed.  This  ro- 
mance, Cuby  adjudged  by  all  means  to  be  a  work  of 
art.  Its  precepts  and  its  tragedies,  of  which  there  was 
no  stint,  abided  with  her.  As  for  Mary  Stingaree, 
Cuby  admitted  to  herself  she  was  a  clever  woman, 
learned  and  superior,  and,  to  the  keen  instinct  of  one 
of  her  own  sex,  a  dangerously  alluring  and  fascinating 
woman. 

So,  when  Cuby  heard  Rob's  words,  coupled  with  the 
frank  distaste  gleaming  in  his  eyes  and  curling  his 
lip,  she  laughed  deliciously: 

"  Rober',  you  mus'  not  make  the  fun  at  her." 


78  POWER   LOT 

"  I  wish  you  lived  up  at  Power  Lot,  Cuby." 

"  Oh,  there  is  only  a  short  road  and  the  hill." 

"  It's  the  deuce  of  a  hill,  though." 

"  You  forget  me — what  I  tell  you.  There  is  a  road 
not  so  steep.  Now  I  mus'  go  'ome.  I  should  ask  you 
to  dinner,  but  I  get  no  dinner  until  night.  Then  my 
father  comes  'ome  from  a-choppin  an'  haulin'  the 
wood,  an'  I  get  then  the  dinner.  I  shall  go,"  said  she, 
rising  promptly.  "  You  also  mus'  go." 

"  Yes,"  Rob  deplored,  "  I'll  go.  You  are  sure  that 
you  will  be  here  when  I  come  to-morrow?  " 

"  May  be  so  an'  may  be  not,"  flaunted  Cuby,  pursu- 
ing the  tantalizing  methods  of  proud  Alva  of  the  tene- 
ments. "  But,  anyway,  you  shall  come." 

Rob  gallantly  took  up  the  bucket  of  clams  and  the 
hoe.  Cuby  blushed  with  satisfaction  at  this  approved 
and  elegant  consummation  of  the  opening  chapter  of  her 
romance,  and  walked  unburdened  at  his  side,  her  head 
held  very  erect,  health  palpably  radiating  from  her  as 
a  perfect  creation  of  nature. 

"  Is  there  anything  like  a  shop  anywhere  around 
here,"  questioned  Rob ;  "  where  a  fellow  could  purchase 
a  few  cigarettes,  I  mean?  " 

"  Sure.  What  for  do  you  take  us?  There  is  a  store 
to  Bear  River." — And  to  Cuby's  mind  it  comprehended 
all  the  variant  wants  of  mankind. — "  There  it  is,  off 
there  where  you  see  the  team  of  oxen  standin'.  Now 
give  to  me  the  clams  an'  my  hoe.  I  wish  you  not  to 
go  to  my  'ouse  with  me.  No — give  them  to  me.  You 
shall  be  late  'ome ;  an'  Ma'y  Sting'ree,  she  will  take  her 
gad-stick  from  behin'  the  door  " — laughter  interrupted 
Cuby's  derision—"  an'  lick  you.  What,  Rober'?  " 


THE    TIDE    MAKES    IN  79 

"  You  are  cruel,  like  the  rest,"  said  Robert,  boyish 
disappointment  and  desperation  showing  on  his  clear- 
cut  features. 

"  Not,"  intimated  Cuby,  with  patronizing  tender- 
ness, "  not  if  you  make  the  big  bluff." 

"  Well,  give  me  a  kiss  to  start  me  bold  on  that  way, 
Cuby — Cuby,  darling." 

A  la  Alva  of  the  tenement-fire,  Rob  felt  a  smart  slap 
in  his  face  and  awakened  to  see  Cuby  disappearing  with 
the  hoe  and  clam  bucket,  which  she  had  snatched  ruth- 
lessly from  his  now  bereft  and  aching  hands.  He  gazed 
after  her,  f orsakenly. 

"  Don'  forget  to  bring  rek'  an*  pitch-a-fork  when 
you  come  down  to-morrow,"  she  called  back  to  him, 
brightly  affectionate,  from  a  distance. 

"  All  right,"  he  responded,  with  a  rebound  of  hope 
in  his  shout.  He  watched  her  retreating  form — a  step 
elastic,  tireless,  and  graceful. 

Rob  went  in  search  of  the  store;  entered  it  with  a 
sense  of  curiosity  and  dismay  which  struck  even  the 
hardened  case  of  the  proprietor  as  unflattering. 

"  I'll  take  some  '  Maud  Dancer  '  cigarettes,"  said  he, 
jingling  the  coin  in  his  pocket. 

"  I  ain't  got  none,"  replied  that  authority,  without 
the  least  accent  of  regret  therefor. 

"What  kind  have  you?" 

"  No  kind,  an'  no  segars.  No  call  for  'em.  Old  X 
plug's  the  favorite  with  my  custom.  Good  for  smokin', 
good  for  chewin'.  Want  some?  " 

"  Is  there  any  other  store  about  here?  " 

"  I  ain't  got  time  to  go  out  and  look,"  was  the  en- 
tirely sarcastic  answer. 


80  POWER    LOT 

"  You  would  know,  probably,"  retorted  Rob  sternly, 
straightening  himself. 

"  Sure.  I  reckon  somebody  'd  'a*  dropped  in  an*  told 
me.  I'm  apt  ter  git  the  news  in  here  's  soon  's  it  drops 
off  the  wire." 

"  Give  me  some  of  your  '  Old  X*  then,"  demanded 
Rob,  throwing  a  dollar  on  the  counter.  The  store- 
keeper counted  out  the  change.  Rob  drew  on  a  glove 
before  he  consigned  the  greasy  silver  and  pennies  to 
his  pocket. 

Presently  he  reappeared. 

"Got  anything  air-tight  to  put  this  stuff  in?"  he 
inquired,  with  some  sarcasm  on  his  own  part. 

The  storekeeper  grinned,  and  laid  a  common  clay 
pipe  on  the  counter. 

"  Have  you  no  other  kind?  "  Rob  asked,  still  severely. 

"  Nope." 

"How  much?" 

"  Cent." 

Rob  threw  the  coin  down  from  his  gloved  hand  with 
disgust  and  took  up  the  pipe.  Presently  he  again  re- 
appeared. 

"  Give  me  some  matches,"  he  said,  crossly  tossing 
some  small  change  on  the  counter. 

"  Now  you're  all  right  for  a  smoke,  Mr.  Lee,"  said 
the  storekeeper  good-naturedly. 

Rob  drew  near  the  man  with  a  genuine  glitter  of  steel 
in  his  eyes.  "  My  name  is  Hilton,"  he  said,  through  set 
teeth. 

"  Somebody's  got  ye  twisted  then ;  I  heern  yer  name 
was  Lee.  Wai',  ef  ye're  like  me  ye're  ready  to  say 
'Call  me  anythin'  but  Late  to  Dinner.'  Ho,  ho! 


THE    TIDE    MAKES    IN  81 

Ha,  ha!  Wai',  come  in  ag'in,  Mister  Hilton,  come  in 
ag'in." 

Rob  labored  up  the  hill  homeward,  perspiring  and 
panting. 

"  This  is  infernal,"  he  gasped,  his  overcoat  on  his 
arm,  the  sweat  streaming  from  every  pore  of  his  body. 
"  When  I  get  up  to  the  top  I'll  probably  strike  a  wind 
as  cold  and  stiff  as  Labrador.  There  isn't  a  level  foot 
along  here  for  a  fellow  to  stop  and  get  his  wind.  I'll 
get  over  there  into  the  ditch  and  brace  myself  against 
a  bowlder  a  minute,  and  see  if  I  can  start  a  fire  on  this 
nasty  apology  for  a  smoke." 

Rob  filled  the  clay  pipe  and,  with  considerable  diffi- 
culty, lighted  it.  The  taste  seemed  to  give  him  an 
extensive  field  for  nauseous  speculation. 

"  It's  molasses  and  ginger,"  he  said.  "  No,  it's 
molasses  and  onions.  The  only  thing  there  ain't  in  it  is 
tobacco.  Phew,"  he  complained,  "  and  I  have  to  draw 
on  it  like  a  suction  pump,  at  that.  Well,  such  as  it  is, 
I'm  glad  it  don't  come  any  easier.  Molasses  and — call 
it  molasses  and  Cuby.  It's  got  all  kinds  of  flavor-in' — 
exceptin'  tobacco." 

But  at  the  name  of  "  Cuby,"  a  more  hopeful  expres- 
sion flitted  over  the  young  man's  face.  He  continued 
the  ascent  of  the  hill,  appearing  at  the  summit  with 
the  hopeful  sign,  at  least,  of  a  discarded  overcoat,  and 
a  wise  clay  pipe  that  gave  back  but  little  molasses  and 
ginger  for  much  strenuous  pulling. 


CHAPTER    VI 

TWENTY    CENTS    AN    HOUR 

MARY  STINGAREE  had  been  reinforced  beforehand  as  to 
the  methods  it  would  be  necessary  to  pursue  with  that 
spoiled  son  of  fortune,  Robert  Hilton.  Mary  had  not 
sought,  nor  craved,  the  disagreeable  task ;  it  having 
been  imposed  upon  her,  she  stood  up  to  it  bravely,  and, 
as  was  her  nature,  unfalteringly. 

"  Of  course,  you  wish  to  work  to  pay  your  board, 
until  you  can  earn  some  money  of  your  own  for  that 
purpose,"  she  said  to  Rob.  "  We  will  be  business-like 
about  it.  Your  board  will  be  three  dollars  a  week. 
Your  labor,  though  you  are  inexperienced,  we  will  call 
worth  twenty  cents  an  hour.  That  is  the  lowest  price 
for  board  and  the  highest  rate  for  labor  ever  paid 
about  here.  I  wish  that  you  could  get  in  a  couple  of 
hours'  work  on  the  woodpile  this  very  afternoon.  Bate 
was  away  so  long,  the  woodpile,  as  you  can  see,  is  get- 
ting very  low." 

Rob's  astonishment  gave  place  on  the  instant  to  burn- 
ing inward  wrath.  The  earth  had  been  his,  and  the 
fullness  thereof.  People  were  fed,  and  extravagantly 
fed — and  wined  too — as  a  matter-of-course.  The  idea 
that  he  must  pay  for  a  paftry  dinner  of  beans  and 
coarse  bread  by  actual  manual  labor  was  so  startling 
as  to  plunge  him,  in  his  own  estimation,  to  a  fatal  fall 
among  the  scum  and  outcast  of  creation.  It  gave  a 

89 


TWENTY    CENTS    AN    HOUR  83 

rigid  and  exacting  tone  to  existence  which  his  very  soul 
abhorred. 

He  hated  Mary  Stingaree  as  the  means  used  to  com- 
pel him  to  this  ignominy.  For — it  flashed  over  him — 
he  could  not,  of  course,  let  a  woman — who  was  of  no  kin 
to  him,  at  that — confessedly  put  the  bread  of  charity 
into  his  mouth. 

Moreover,  Rob  was  growing  irritable  from  the  un- 
usual deprivation  he  was  suffering  from  having  no 
strong  drink  at  his  command.  It  was  a  fierce  dilemma 
for  him — a  craving  that  began  to  possess  him,  blindly, 
madly.  And  unreasoningly  now,  one  thought  made  a 
glowing  focus  for  his  distemper — he  hated  Mary 
Stingaree. 

Mary,  apparently,  was  too  much  preoccupied  to  per- 
ceive either  his  dislike  or  his  displeasure. 

"  The  ax  and  saw  are  out  there  by  the  woodpile," 
she  said  brightly  and  encouragingly,  and  turned  to 
continue  her  own  work  in  the  house. 

Rob,  pulling  away  at  his  unsatisfactory  pipe,  saun- 
tered malignantly  to  the  woodpile  and  stood  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  like  a  child  making  a  flamingo- 
show  of  independence. 

Then,  from  a  wild  desire  to  forget  his  misery  and 
his  thirst,  he  began  to  saw.  The  saw  went  flat,  side- 
wise,  reeled  like  a  drunken  man.  Fear  of  ridicule  added 
to  Rob's  wrath,  for  he  was  in  full  view  of  the  house 
windows  and  the  whole  surrounding  hamlet.  He  laid 
down  his  pipe,  put  off  his  overcoat, — put  off,  presently, 
his  very  coat,  and  clenched  his  teeth  in  a  desperate 
struggle  with  this  unwieldy  subject.  He  smothered  his 
gasps,  he  ignored  his  aching  back ;  the  sweat  ran  from 


84  POWER    LOT 

his  wet  hair  down  his  face;  he  even  felt  a  drop  full 
now  and  then  on  his  blistering,  swollen  hands.  When 
he  did  lift  his  head  occasionally,  willfully  unconscious 
that  his  mortal  frame  was  really  a  pathetic  spectacle  of 
red  and  wilted  exhaustion,  he  whistled. 

In  spite  of  all — and  it  was,  indeed,  his  utmost — tho 
pile  of  sawn  wood  seemed  to  increase  but  exceeding 
slowly.  And  he  had  meant  to  dawdle  down  to  the  shore 
again  that  afternoon,  not  to  hide  himself  in  melancholy 
contemplation  on  a  spar,  but  to  stand  out  conspicuously 
against  the  bluffs  as  a  possible  target  for  the  approach 
of  beautiful,  gay-colored  Cuby  Tee-bo. 

"Old  Fly-by-Night,"  said  Rob,  many  times,  under 
his  breath,  not  of  sweet  Cuby,  but  of  that  other  woman, 
who,  with  her  bright  regal  eyes  pondering  many  things, 
was  singing  unconsciously  as  she  washed  the  dishes, 
"  tidied  up,"  tended  her  poor  mother,  and  set  about 
preparing  the  chowder  for  supper. 

Bate  left  his  plow  in  the  adjoining  field  to  come  over 
to  the  spring  for  a  drink  of  water.  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment at  Rob's  shoulder,  even  his  morose  nature  affected 
by  the  moving  spectacle  of  that  young  man's  perspiring 
pains. 

"  Say,  you  look  beat  out,"  he  volunteered  in  growling 
sympathy. 

"  Nonsense,"  panted  Rob ;  "  the  wind  has  changed, 
that's  all.  It's  turned  as  hot  as  Tophet." 

"  No,  the  wind  ain't  shifted  neither,"  replied  Bate, 
very  literally ;  "  it's  you." 

Rob  had  seen  him  drink  at  the  spring  and  he  could 
bear  it  no  longer.  He  marched  over  and  fed  at  that 
pellucid  fountain,  deep  and  long.  When  he  returned 


TWENTY    CENTS    AN    HOUR  85 

Bate  was  still  standing  by  the  little  pile  of  sawn  wood 
contemplating  it  with  judicial  pity  and  wonder. 

"  Say,  ye  done  a  smart  little  job — considering"  said 
he.  "  I  never  seen  a  man  work  so  mad  an'  peggy." 
The  main  thing  now,  however,  with  Rob  was  that  his 
thirst  instantly  returned.  It  seemed  utter,  insatiable. 

"  Look  here,  Bate,"  said  he  in  a  low  tone,  doggedly 
picking  up  his  saw,  "  do  you  know  of  any  place  'round 
here  where  a  fellow  could  get  a  little  nip  o'  something 
besides  air  to  drink?  " 

Bate  turned  his  back  completely  to  the  house,  looked 
straight  toward  the  horizon,  and  grumbled  uneasily, 
"  How  do  I  know  but  what  you'd  go  an'  give  us  away  ?  " 
— his  own  thirst  was  keen,  though,  and  he  was  penniless 
— "  sometimes — 7  don'  know — when  some  stranger- 
body  comes  in  shore,  they  mo'nt  have  a  little  somethin' 
an'  they  mo'nt  not.  I  mo'nt  wander  over  somewhar's 
to-night  an'  see." 

"  I'll  share  it  even  with  you  if  you  will,"  said  Rob. 

"Got  any  money?"  muttered  Bate. 

Rob  thrust  his  hand  rapidly  in  his  pocket. 

"  'S — sh,"  Bate  breathed  warningly — "  go  easy. 
Don't  let  Ma'y  see  ye  fishin'  for  money  whilst  we're 
standin'  talkin'  together." 

But  the  warning  was  too  late.  Before  Rob  could 
withdraw  his  hand  from  his  pocket  he  realized  that  his 
hat  had  been  knocked  from  his  head  by  some  individual 
in  the  rear  and  a  stinging  blow  administered  to  one 
cheek.  Bate's  hat  flew  off,  too,  and  a  whack  even  lustier 
smote  him. 

"  Take  that,  by  Jo !  you  cheese-heads,"  cried  a  con- 
fident voice. 


86  POWER    LOT 

Up  to  this  time  Rob,  dazed  and  marveling,  had 
fancied  the  aggressor  to  be  Mary  Stingaree,  but  he 
turned  to  confront  a  short,  stout  woman,  wearing  a 
man's  hat,  and  a  general  manner  that  was  the  culmina- 
tion of  dauntlessness. 

"  Don't  you  jump  at  me  again,"  said  the  incensed 
and  marveling  Rob. 

"  *  Jump  at  you,'  "  sniffed  the  woman.  "  I  wouldn't 
take  you  as  a  gift,  by  Jo ! — not  with  a  thousand  acres 
thrown  in." 

Rob  stooped,  picked  up  his  hat,  and  brushed  it 
angrily. 

"  Get  out  o'  here,"  he  said  to  the  queer  woman. 

She  laughed,  switched  around  an  oxwhip  that  she 
had  been  holding  in  her  left  hand,  raised  it,  and  cracked 
the  lash  in  the  air  with  ringing  exuberance. 

"  You  measly  little  puppies,"  she  cried,  "  out  here 
ar  ran  gin'  to  make  a  pair  o'  selfish  dung-hill  swine  o* 
yerselves,  with  Mary  Stingaree,  in  there,  that's  given 
up  her  dearest  hopes  in  life  to  come  home  and  take  care 
of  her  mother  and  you !  " 

Mrs.  By  jo  caught  her  valiant  breath,  and  continued: 

"  She  was  depending  on  you,  Bate,  to  help  this  other 
feller,  and  you  know  it,  you  hog ;  and  she  was  depending 
on  this  other  soft  sqush  of  a  fool  to  help  you  along,  and 
you  both  know  it.  And  you'll  set  your  lazy  good-for- 
nothing  carkisses  down  on  that  poor  young  woman  for 
dependence,  and  tear  the  heart  out  o'  her  with  your 
mean  brute  ways.  A  dog  is  away  beyond  ye,  in  heart 
and  intellect  both,  by  Jo !  Look  at  yerselves !  Ain't  ye 
proud?  Think  yerselves  over  a  little,  ye  measly  lard- 
drippin's.  Or,  if  ye  can't  stand  it  to  do  that — and  I 


TWENTY    CENTS    AN    HOUR  87 

don't  see  how  ye  can — think  o'  Mary  Stingaree  an*  the 
human  beings  'round  ye,  and  try  to  waddle  out  o'  yer 
sty  and  act  as  though  ye'd  been  born  with  souls  along 
o'  other  folks." 

Rob  took  up  his  saw. 

"  Madam,"  said  he  with  a  bow  and  a  derisive  snarl 
through  his  white  teeth,  "  you'd  make  a  good  one  for 
a  rural  play — you  would.  Let  me  escort  you  over  to 
New  York  and  I  will  promise  you  crowded  houses." 

She  stood  with  arms  akimbo,  regarding  him,  neither 
hurt  nor  hate  on  her  face,  but  a  contempt  that  was 
terribly  genuine,  and  quite  at  rest. 

"  I've  got  all  the  audience  I  want,  right  here,"  she 
replied.  "  I  ain't  no  hand  for  '  crowded  houses.'  Two 
villains  at  a  time  is  enough  for  me." 

"  Thank  you,  madam." 

"  You'll  have  more  than  that  to  thank  me  for.  Just 
you  go  yourself  or  send  poor  Bate  Stingaree  any- 
wheres to  git  rum  for  ye,  and,  by  Jo !  me  or  Jim  Tur- 
bine, or  both  of  us  together,  '11  whip  ye  till  ye  squeal 
for  mercy.  Am  I  talkin',  Bate?  " 

"  I  guess  ye  be,"  said  Bate  wearily,  slinking  away 
to  his  plow. 

"  Ye  heard  what  Bate  said?  "  The  woman  looked  at 
Rob  with  her  unromantic,  unflashing,  common  gray  eyes. 

"  Pray  don't  hasten  to  leave  me,  madam,"  said  Rob. 
"  I  assure  you,  I  shan't  know  what  to  do  without  your 
company." 

"  Don't  you  fret.  I'm  goin'  to  keep  an  eye  on  ye,  for 
Mary's  sake.  Don't  ye  get  to  thinkin'  that  I  consider 
you  interesting  for  I  don't.  Big  as  ye  be,  ye  ain't  man- 
size,  nowhere  near." 


88  POWER    LOT 

She  tramped  away  with  her  manly,  self-confident 
tread.  Rob  watched  the  two  sturdy  arms  swinging  and 
the  cant  of  her  hat ;  saw  her  in  a  field  not  far  away 
wake  up  her  oxen  with  a  crack  of  her  whip,  seize  the 
plow  handles  and  bend  to  her  task. 

"  Well,"  he  ruminated  in  apostrophe,  "  ain't  this  a 
h — 1  circus  of  a  place.  A  fellow  'd  make  more  exporting 
some  of  these  queer  hyenas  than  he  would  sweating  his 
gizzard  out  for  a  supper  of  dirty  clams  and  crackers." 

Still,  in  fact,  all  Mary  Stingaree's  cooking  was  very 
clean,  and  the  thought  of  it  was  already  tantalizing 
Rob,  not  unhopefully.  He  sawed  on,  with  scorn  in  his 
soul  for  the  outlandish  and  weird  community  in  which 
fate  had  placed  him.  Once  in  a  while  he  lifted  his  eyes 
to  the  woman  over  in  the  field  striving  manfully  over 
the  newly  plowed  ruts. 

"  She's  a  plucky  old  wildcat,  anyhow,"  he  averred. 

Bate  always  went  in  first  and  promptly  to  his  meals; 
at  the  self-appointed  hour  he  strode  in,  and,  if  Mary 
was  not  ready,  awaited  her  preparations  with  im- 
patience. As  he  passed  Rob  the  latter  adroitly  slipped 
some  money  into  his  hand. 

"  Le'  me  'lone,"  said  Bate,  instantly  dropping  the 
money  into  the  chips.  "  Want  to  git  me  into  a  scrape? 
Ef  you  want  somethin*  ter  drink,  ye'll  have  ter  light 
out  somewhar's  else,  f'r  all  me;  that's  what  I'm  goin' 
ter  do  soon  as  I  git  a  chance." 

What  was  it,  Rob  wondered,  of  which  the  fellow  was 
afraid.  Afraid  of  a  woman's  tongue? — of  a  woman's 
whip?  Rob  let  the  money  lie  for  a  space,  only 
picking  it  up  hastily  as  he  entered  the  house  at  the  call 
to  supper.  Mary  saw  the  act. 


TWENTY    CENTS    AN    HOUR  89 

Bate  ate  as  usual  in  surly  silence.  Mary  Stingaree's 
eyes  were  more  distasteful  to  Rob  than  even  the  thought 
of  the  plow-woman's  lash.  Mary's  cheeks  were  flushed, 
and  she  seemed  inclined  to  talk,  of  her  past  experiences, 
of  such  current  events  as  she  had  any  opportunity  to 
learn ;  the  tone  and  manner  of  a  lady — a  cultivation 
beyond  any  circle  even  that  Rob  had  ever  known. 

When  she  willed  that  he  should  look  at  her,  the  poor 
wretch  was  always  conscious  of  it  and  eventually  lifted 
his  head.  He  did  so  now  and  met  her  eyes ;  in  their  de- 
spair and  sorrow,  unconsciously  they  scourged  him. 
More  than  that,  it  struck  him  for  the  first  time  that 
they  were  bewilderingly  beautiful  eyes,  that  her  color 
was  fine,  her  features  entrancing.  She  looked  young 
this  night.  He  recalled  what  Cuby  had  said,  that  Mary 
Stingaree  was  only  twenty-five.  He  stared  stupidly  at 
her;  for  he  felt  that  it  mattered  little:  he  was  debased 
in  his  own  eyes  and  in  hers.  She  knew  that  he  was 
drink-crazy,  that  he  had  attempted  to  suborn  another — 
an  even  more  pitiful  drunkard  than  himself — to  do 
his  besotted  will  in  procuring  drink  for  them  both.  It 
was  "  damnable  cruel,"  he  thought,  to  have  a  man's 
head  growing  clearer  under  such  circumstances. 

To  realize  by  some  dull  pang  outside  his  own  volition 
the  matchless  beauty  and  desirability  of  a  woman  who 
was  in  the  stars  out  of  his  reach,  utterly  and  forever ; 
and  he,  awakened,  at  such  a  moment,  to  find  himself 
lying  worthless,  broken,  and  besotted  in  the  lowest  ditch 
of  earth. 

"  Virginia  Stafford  was  in  to  see  me  this  afternoon," 
said  Mary  conversationally. 

"Who?" 


90  POWER    LOT 

"  The  woman  they  have  nicknamed  *  Mrs.  By  jo.'  She 
can  bear  a  goodly  number  of  nicknames  and  of  eccen- 
tricities," continued  Mary,  smiling ;  "  she  is  large 
enough  in  nature  to  stand  it." 

"You  mean  that  plow-woman?"  said  Rob  dully. 
The  subject  did  not  interest  him. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  the  plow-woman  " — Mary  was  not  in 
the  least  disconcerted.  "  And  by  the  way,  she  is  the 
most  successful  farmer  in  Power  Lot;  not  that  she  is 
accumulating  wealth,  but — incredible  to  me,  anyway — 
she  is  able  to  send  something — something — every  six 
months  toward  the  support  of  the  two  orphan  children 
her  brother  left,  back  in  the  States ;  enough,  at  least, 
with  the  little  their  father  left  them,  so  that  they  are 
not  made  objects  of  charity.  How  she  does  it,  I 
do  not  know;  but  she  does  it.  She  rises  regularly  at 
five.  She  is  indefatigable;  she  is  unconquerable  by 
adversity  or  misfortune.  She  could  lead  an  army." 

"  I  like  a  woman  to  be  a  woman,"  said  Rob  stupidly, 
and  a  little  crossly.  Bate  had  risen  some  time  before, 
and  left  the  room  with  a  covert  sneer. 

"  And  I,"  said  Mary,  very  sweetly  and  clearly,  but 
hitting  straight  from  the  shoulder,  "  I  like  a  man  to  be 
a  man." 

Rob  flushed  violently.  The  look  he  met  on  her  face 
was  almost  tender,  though ;  it  bridged  the  distance 
between  her  and  him  with  a  certain  grandeur  of  hu- 
mility and  faith.  Rob  felt  no  excuse  for  anger  and  no 
desire  to  rise  in  wrath. 

"  Well,  Miss  Stingaree,"  said  he  sadly,  "  I  expect  I 
deserve  that  hit  all  right;"  and  his  mouth  worked 
pitifully. 


TWENTY    CENTS    AN    HOUR  91 

Yet  if  the  desired  cup  of  his  former  weakness  and 
quondam  destruction  had  been  set  before  him  on  that 
instant  he  would  have  drunk  of  it  without  hesitation 
or  compunction. 

Mary  knew.  "  While  I  am  '  hitting,'  "  she  went  on, 
her  eyes  conveying  their  splendid  challenge  of  pity  and 
loyalty — "  while  I  am  hitting — my  friend  Robert, — do 
you  mind  if  I  hit  pretty  hard?  " 

"  No,"  sighed  the  hopeless  victim,  "  I  like  to  have  you 
pommel  me." 

It  was  the  turn  for  Mary's  cheeks  to  spring  aflame. 
His  weakness  exasperated  her,  his  sudden  subjection 
disgusted  her. 

"  I  could  understand,  possibly,  the  recklessness,  the 
madness,  of  your  trying  to  get  drink  again  for  your- 
self, but  to  attempt  to  employ  a  wreck  like  my  brother 
for  the  purpose — that  was  too  perfidious,  too  craven." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  Rob  protested,  meeting 
her  look  straightway,  though  the  red  of  shame  was  deep 
on  his  face.  "  I  did  not  think — I  did  not  mean — per- 
haps you  go  by  rule  and  square — then  take  somebody 
straighter  than  I  am  to  prove  your  measurements  by." 

"  Straighter  than  you,"  Mary  ejaculated  in  scorn. 

"  I  don't  mean  physically,"  stammered  Rob. 

"How,  then?" 

Rob's  adventures  in  metaphysics  had  been  few  and 
far  between.  He  hesitated. 

"  Did  you  ever  think  much,  I  wonder " — Mary 
seemed  to  muse — "  of  the  misfortune,  the  deformity,  the 
hideous  woe  actually  born  into  this  world  to  take  its 
human  shape  and  suffer  through  its  whole  existence 
here  because  of  a  lack  of  any  fair  equipment  for  life?  " 


92  POWER    LOT 

"You  see  a  lot  of  it  in  the  city,"  Rob  returned, 
grateful,  at  least,  for  the  diversion,  and  now  on  solid 
ground ;  "  I've  often  wondered  why — God  did  it." 

He  was  far  from  being  at  ease  with  her ;  words  would 
not  come  to  him.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  in  the  backward 
class  in  school  before  her,  and  his  size  and  opportunities 
made  the  position  ridiculous.  He  would  have  given 
the  world  at  that  moment  to  be  a  strong,  morally 
stalwart,  masterful  man  before  Mary  Stingaree. 

"  And  you  tell  me  that  you  are  of  that  sort,"  she 
sighed ;  "  only  morally  deficient  and  deformed,  instead 
of  physically.  Somehow,  I  cannot  believe  it." 

In  his  heart  Rob  was  glad  that  she  could  not ;  his 
position,  however,  became  increasingly  awkward.  She 
was  waiting,  gently,  not  in  the  least  imperatively,  for 
an  answer ;  and  he  was  hard  put  to  it  to  know  what  to 
answer. 

"  There's  a  great  deal  in  environment,  you  know,"  he 
affirmed  lightly,  with  a  high  blush. 

"Yes,  there  must  be,"  she  said,  very  slowly  and 
gravely,  "  to  conquer  a  man  of  the  size  that  you  are 
both  in  soul  and  body." 

Rob  could  not  look  at  her  now;  his  heart  gave  a 
tumultuous  leap,  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes.  She  had  re- 
instated him  over  the  waste  of  lost  ideals  and  a  squan- 
dered life.  Did  she  mean  it?  Yes,  she  meant  it — his 
soul  averred — for  she  seemed  to  dislike  him  personally ; 
she  would  not  flatter  him.  The  soothing  words  seemed 
almost  to  have  been  spoken  against  her  will. 

Let  her  say  what  she  might  about  him  therefore,  let 
her  shrink  from  him  as  she  might — he  loved  her,  he 
adored  her — the  thought  suffused  him — he  could  not 


TWENTY    CENTS    AN    HOUR  93 

look  at  her.  But  his  shoulders  straightened,  the  boyish 
laugh  came  crisply  through  his  white  teeth. 

"  I  guess  it  might  be  that  the  fault  lies  pretty  much 
—with  Rob  Hilton,"  he  admitted;  "it  might  be  that 
he's  a  fellow  that's  been — damnably  thoughtless  and — 
self-indulgent  and — lazy.  Well,  anyway,"  he  sighed, 
rather  proudly,  "  it  does  a  fellow  good  to  have  some- 
body to  own  up  to,  and  I — I  thank  you." 

His  eyes  sprang  to  hers  with  almost  a  cry  for  sym- 
pathy ;  and  it  was  enough  that  she  smiled  at  him ;  she 
did  not  speak.  She  smiled  at  him,  after  all,  he  re- 
flected— not  with  him.  He  was  petulant  in  his  haste 
to  assume  what  he  had  forfeited;  and  Mary's  smile 
was  kind  enough,  wholly  without  spiritual  conceit — 
and  at  the  same  time  as  inevitably,  hopelessly  removed 
from  him  as  her  beautiful  eyes  were  in  themselves  a 
symbol  of  exotic  splendor. 

He  endeavored  foolishly,  on  the  instant,  to  imagine 
that  her  hands,  worn  and  disfigured  somewhat  by  un- 
accustomed housework,  brought  her  in  some  sense  to 
a  lower  level,  but  the  thought  would  not  linger.  Rather, 
she  was  a  queen  as  she  excused  herself  and  went  out  to 
her  work  in  the  kitchen. 

" '  Environment '  doesn't  make  or  mar  her,"  was 
Rob's  mental  comment.  "  No,  by  Jove,  environment 
don't  touch  her.  Well,  I've  known  girls  as  high-flown 
as  she  that  would  marry  me — when  I  had  my  money — 
but  she  wouldn't  marry  me,  money  or  no  money ;  she'd 
claw  my  eyes  out  before  she'd  marry  me." 

Rob  went  up  to  his  own  room,  his  mind  sweeping — 
impetuous,  unstable — from  one  new  thought  to  another. 
Drinking,  not  thinking,  had  been  his  occupation,  as  one 


94  POWER    LOT 

may  say  truthfully.  Drinking,  playing,  mental  som- 
nolence— not  thinking,  not  even  truly  feeling.  The 
sudden  plunge  into  so  untried  an  employment  drove 
him  like  a  fever. 

Oh,  for  a  drink  now  to  still  the  tempest  in  his  brain 
as  well  as  to  quench  his  diseased  abnormal  physical 
craving.  He  paced  the  floor  like  a  madman.  A  glim- 
mer, fuller  and  more  penetrating  than  usual,  drew  his 
attention.  He  saw  that  the  best  lamp  had  been  set 
burning  in  his  room,  making  it  cozy  and  light;  for, 
though  it  was  Spring,  the  nights  were  wintry  cold. 
Extra  covering  had  been  piled  on  the  bed,  and  the  little 
stand  with  the  Bible  had  some  of  the  latest  magazines 
on  it,  sent  to  Mary  by  acquaintances  and  friends  who 
had  not  quite  forgotten  her  in  their  more  luxurious 
world.  The  best  of  her  estate  she  had  given  to  him  to 
warm  and  cheer  him. 

"  That  was  very  good  of  her,"  said  Rob,  and  paused 
and  made  a  sort  of  bow  before  the  table,  as  if  acknowl- 
edging some  courtesy  in  a  drawing-room.  He  fingered 
the  magazines  so  heedlessly  they  fluttered  off  to  the 
floor,  leaving  the  Bible  exposed. 

"  I  haven't  read  that  old  book  "—Rob's  wild  thoughts 
suddenly  leaped  to  a  concentration  somewhere — "  not 
since  I  was  a  little  shaver  in  black  velvet  and  stopped  to 
Sunday  school  with  old  Hulda,  my  nurse,  waiting  for 
me  on  the  back  bench.  Black  velvet  and  ruffled  shirt, 
and  curls  to  my  waist — portrait  full-length,  in  the 
library  at  home,  little  whip  in  my  hand;  standing  by 
white  pony ;  face  as  dimpled  and  sweet  as  a  baby  that's 
just  sucked  himself  full  from  a  nursing-bottle.  Re- 
member how  Florry  Doreen  went  up  and  pasted  pink 


TWENTY    CENTS    AN    HOUR  95 

wings  on  to  it,  that  night  Fred  and  I  had  half  the 
ballet  there.  Oh,  my  God !  how  long  ago  it  all  seems ! " 

Indirectly  and  heedlessly,  he  threw  open  the  long- 
forgotten  book,  and  it  lay  flat,  with  a  certain  remark- 
able story  staring  up  at  him  in  big  print : 

"  Jesus  therefore,  being  wearied  with  his  journey, 
sat  thus  at  the  well :  and  it  was  about  the  sixth  hour. 

"  There  cometh  a  woman  of  Samaria  to  draw  water. 
Jesus  saith  unto  her,  Give  me  to  drink. 

"  Then  saith  the  woman  of  Samaria  unto  him,  How 
is  it  that  thou,  being  a  Jew,  asketh  drink  of  me,  which 
am  a  woman  of  Samaria?  for  the  Jews  have  no  deal- 
ings with  the  Samaritans. 

"  Jesus  answered  and  said  unto  her,  If  thou  knewest 
the  gift  of  God,  and  who  it  is  that  saith  to  thee,  Give 
me  to  drink,  thou  wouldst  have  asked  of  him,  and  he 
would  have  given  thee  living  water.  .  .  . 

"  Whosoever  drinketh  of  this  water  shall  thirst  again : 

"  But  whosoever  drinketh  of  the  water  that  I  shall 
give  him  shall  never  thirst." 

Rob,  standing  carelessly  by  the  table,  read  the  story 
quite  through ;  then  flipped  the  book  together  again. 
Black  velvet  and  pony-whip ;  and,  years  later,  the  orgy 
with  Florry  Doreen,  and  pink  wings  pasted  on  the 
glass  over  his  cherubic  portrait.  Back  in  the  black- 
velvet  age,  another  impression,  that  stood  out  before 
him  with  undimmed  vitality,  and  which  he  expounded 
indifferently  to  the  low  walls  of  his  room. 

"  That's  religion — that  '  water  »  it  tells  about  in  the 
Bible ;  it  means  *  religion.'  " 

The  amiable  quality  of  piety  was  entirely  dissociated 
in  Rob's  mind  from  his  maddening  desire  to  be  on  a 


96  POWER    LOT 

character-plane  corresponding  with,  or  above,  that  of 
Mary  Stingaree  and  her  like — to  rule,  to  command,  to 
reign,  as  somehow,  though  poverty-stricken,  she  never- 
theless reigned. 

Throwing  himself  on  his  bed,  his  tumultuous  brain 
craved  to  know  how,  quickly,  by  some  means  to  reach 
that  altitude;  exulted  in  the  fever  of  imagination  as 
though  he  were  there;  sank  again  into  bitter  despon- 
dency ;  and  ever,  into  the  background  of  his  confused 
and  restless  tossing,  there  slowly  took  shape  and  grew 
before  him  into  almost  palpable  distinctness,  the  por- 
trait of  a  dimpled  boy,  with  love  and  faith  and  heavenly 
innocence  in  his  smiling  blue  eyes. 

So  was  heaven  merciful  to  him,  for  otherwise  he  could 
not  have  slept;  but  at  last  the  portrait,  so  far  away 
from  him  in  every  sense  now  that  it  seemed  no  more 
than  the  portrait  of  a  strange  existence,  lured  him  with 
its  sweet  young  smile  into  the  untroubled  pastures  of 
sleep. 


CHAPTER    VII 

JOGGINS NOT    SO    STEEP 

"  IT'S  a  shame  for  you  to  give  me  the  best  of  every- 
thing, Miss  Stingaree.  You  must  not  do  it."  Rob 
brought  down  the  parlor  lamp  in  the  morning  himself, 
with  this  remark.  Mary  looked  up  with  interest,  Bate 
with  stolid  amaze. 

Mary  was  entering  the  room  bearing  a  platter ;  Rob 
held  the  door  open  for  her  with  his  disengaged  hand, 
at  the  same  time  bending  his  head  very  low.  Bate's 
stolid  amaze  turned  to  a  sly,  knowing  leer.  "  He's 
after  the  old  girl,"  thought  this  exalted  being. 

Poor  Rob  would  have  been  only  scandalized  by  the 
profanation  of  such  a  thought.  He  was  not  "  after 
Mary  " :  she  was  out  of  his  reach.  But  he  had  awak- 
ened unaccountably  refreshed,  had  rubbed  himself  vig- 
orously with  cold  water,  perforce,  there  being  no  other, 
had  brushed  his  hair  to  a  sense  of  physical  perfection. 
The  tonic  of  the  wild  air  shone  in  his  blood;  and, 
though  he  must  eliminate  Mary  Stingaree  as  any  tender 
aspiration  from  his  equation  of  life,  yet  he  meant  to 
have  just  as  good  a  time  as  possible  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. So  he  held  the  door  open,  with  his  master- 
piece bow,  and  waited. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  replied.  Her  face  brightened. 
Rob  continued  his  courteous  offices  at  the  table,  begging 
permission  to  pass  the  food  whenever  occasion  required. 
97 


98  POWER    LOT 

He  addressed  some  general  remarks  on  the  administra- 
tive policy  of  farming  to  Bate,  whose  sly  leer  widened 
under  this  auspicious  fostering  as  he  growled  in 
reply. 

"  Miss  Stingaree,"  said  Rob,  as  they  rose,  *'  you 
offered  me  the — the  oxen  and  cart,  yesterday ;  but  I — 
I — well,  I  went  down  to  Bear  River  to  make  some  ar- 
rangements about — ahem — about  rockweed.  Will  it 
be  convenient  for  you  to  let  me  have  the  oxen  and  cart 
to-day?" 

"  Have  you  planned  to  use  them  to-day,  Bate?  "  Mary 
asked. 

Bate  shook  his  head,  with  an  anticipation  in  his  eye 
which  took  on  as  nearly  the  hue  of  wickedness  as  his 
dull  and  degraded  emotions  could  convey. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mary,  answering  Rob's  request, 
"  you  may  take  them." 

"  Yer  ground's  been  dressed,"  muttered  Bate  con- 
temptuously for  Rob's  ignorance ;  "  ye'd  better  plow 
it  up." 

"  I  have  my  own  ideas  about  that,"  replied  Rob,  with 
dignity.  "  I  wish  to  make  a  further  application  of 
rockweed,  to — to  dress  it  some  more,  in  fact " — the 
vision  of  the  beach  down  the  shore,  and  bright,  laugh- 
ing Cuby  Tee-bo  drawing  him  away  from  the  sordid 
and  unknown  qualities  of  his  unattacked  farm. 

"  Suit  yerself,"  rejoined  Bate,  departing  with  the 
aforesaid  glimmer  of  malign  humor  on  his  countenance. 

Rob,  for  his  part,  went  gingerly  into  the  barnyard, 
though  it  was  not  from  fear  of  the  oxen,  those  grave, 
slow  beasts ;  he  meant  to  keep  his  boots  nice,  notwith- 
standing that  fate  might  wield  all  her  emprise  to  thwart 


JOGGINS— NOT    SO    STEEP  99 

him  in  this  particular.  He  fastened  the  bells,  somehow, 
around  the  oxen's  necks,  with  a  certain  pride  in  the 
accomplishment  of  this  bucolic  rite.  Then  he  essayed 
to  lash  the  yoke  to  their  horns.  The  retrospective  wis- 
dom of  ages  sat  in  their  mild  eyes  as  they  consented  to 
observe,  for  a  time,  the  freshness  and  novelty  of  his 
adventures  in  this  regard.  One  of  them,  indeed,  in  an 
easy  fit  of  abstraction,  had  become  bound  after  a 
fashion,  at  which  pass  the  other  indolently  demurred,  to 
the  extent  of  stepping  a  yard  or  two  away  out  of  the 
range  of  Rob's  boresome  experiments.  How  to  get  this 
mildly  recalcitrant  beast  into  the  required  close  prox- 
imity to  his  mate? 

"  Come  here,  sir,"  cried  Rob  manfully,  fraternally, 
"  come  you  here,  sir." 

Ox,  standing  a  yard  or  so  away,  gazed  at  Rob  in  a 
placid,  removed  trance  of  rumination. 

"  Come  up  here,  good  old  fellow.  Come  alongside. 
Gee.  Haw.  Giddup.  I'm  done  fooling  with  you — 
now  you  march  along  up  here." 

Ox,  motionless,  closed  his  weary  eyes  and  chewed  the 
cud. 

Rob  took  the  oxwhip  from  its  support  against  the 
fence  and  attempted  to  snap  the  lash  in  true  rural  fash- 
ion. The  result  was  like  that  of  a  torpedo  which  falls 
in  untimely  disintegration  and  does  not  explode.  Ox, 
dreaming,  perhaps,  of  the  insects  of  summer — dream- 
ing, anyway — rouses  enough  to  survey  Rob  through  the 
unperturbed  fringe  of  an  eyelash  and  walks  to  the  far 
end  of  the  yard.  Rob  tramped  through  the  mire  to  his 
rear  and  flecked  him  tentatively  with  the  whip.  Ox, 
with  a  mere  show  of  quickness  that  was  redolent  also 


100  POWER    LOT 

of  contempt,  walks  to  another  remote  corner.  So, 
round  and  round  the  barnyard,  Rob  followed  that 
dignified,  speculative,  half-somnolent  animal,  the  latter 
seeking  every  nook  and  corner  save  the  accustomed  one 
at  his  mate's  side.  Rob,  amidst  deeper  chagrin,  sur- 
veyed helplessly  the  spectacle  of  his  boots. 

"  Bate,  Bate!"  he  called  at  last,  in  a  confidentially 
insinuating  tone.  Bate,  if  the  truth  had  been  known, 
had  gone  on  down  the  road  to  share  the  facetious  news 
generously  with  others,  and  to  watch  Rob's  later  pro- 
cession. 

Peering  over  the  fence,  Rob  saw  Mrs.  By  jo  striding 
self-confidently  over  her  own  acres.  He  left  the  occult 
and  confounding  proposition  in  the  barnyard,  and  ap- 
peared before  her,  very  cordially,  and  also  very  red  in 
the  face.  His  hat  went  off  voluntarily,  by  his  own 
hand  this  time: 

"  Mrs.  Stafford,  may  I  ask  a  great  favor  of 
you?" 

"  Certainly.  What  can  I  do  to  help  you?"  replied 
the  woman  briskly,  her  good-humored  eyes  meeting  his 
frankly. 

"  Those  confounded  oxen  won't  hang  together,"  said 
Rob. 

"  That  so?    Well,  we'll  hang  'em." 

With  a  few  sturdy  admonitions  by  word  of  mouth, 
and  some  equally  drastic  manipulations  of  the  whip, 
Mrs.  By  jo  had  the  oxen  yoked  in  no  time. 

"  When  you  want  'em  to  make  to  the  right,  *  gee ' 
'em — so ;  when  you  want  'em  to  steer  to  the  left,  *  haw  ' 
'em — this  way ;  when  you  want  to  stop  'em,  *  whoa  '  'em 
right  up  for'ard  with  the  whip — so."  She  handed  the 


JOGGINS— NOT    SO    STEEP  101 

whip  to  Rob.  "  You'd  better  take  the  Joggins  road," 
she  added ;  "  it's  not  so  steep,  opens  right  off  my  farm, 
there,  into  the  woods.  Bear  down  the  lane  here,  then 
steer  along  the  track  on  the  edge  oj  the  woods  till  ye 
turn  down  into  Joggins." 

"  Thank  you,  a  thousand  times — thank  you,  Mrs. 
Stafford,"  said  Rob,  humbly,  obsequious — that  is  the 
truth — before  the  woman  who  had  whacked  him  the  day 
before,  and  yoked  the  oxen  for  him  this  morning.  But 
the  wind  on  that  hill-plain  somehow  blew  all  the  past 
vapors,  weaknesses,  and  mortifications  out  of  a  man's 
brain;  its  health  and  monitions  were  sufficient  for  the 
hour. 

Rob  stepped  into  the  cart  carefully,  his  long  legs 
having  known  recent  paralysis.  He  blushed  a  little ;  he 
envied,  actually,  that  morning,  more  than  aught  else 
on  earth,  just  the  thighs  and  sinews  of  a  lusty  clod- 
hopper. 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Hilton,"  the  woman  called  after 
him,  with  the  kindest  intention,  her  sturdy  arms  akimbo, 
"  if  I  were  you,  I'd  get  out  and  walk,  by  Jo,  till  I  got 
a  leetle  more  experience  drivin'  my  team." 

"  Oh,  I  think  I  know  the  ropes  now  all  right,  thank 
you,  Mrs.  Stafford,"  said  Rob,  again  lifting  his  hat; 
"  these  beasts  never  go  out  of  a  walk,  you  know." 

Rob  did  not  hear  it,  but  a  stifled  murmur  went  down 
the  sylvan  shades  of  the  Joggins  road :  "  He's  turned 
in  to  Joggins.  He's  in  sight.  Daisy's  comin'.  Daisy 
Lee's  a-comin'.  He's  ridin',  too,  cock-sure,  the  ridick- 
'lous  ass." 

As  for  Daisy  himself,  he  sat  on  the  rough  plank  laid 
casually  overlapping  the  sideboards  of  the  cart ;  and  all 


102  POWER    LOT 

his  study  was,  by  constant  maneuvering,  to  keep  the 
plank — which  was  constantly  changing  its  position,  by 
reason  of  the  roughness  of  the  road — from  upsetting, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  maintain  something  like  a  self- 
respecting  equilibrium.  Absorbed  in  this  pursuit,  he 
went  rattling  and  pommeling  down  Joggins,  using  the 
butt-end  of  his  whip  for  a  personal  bracer,  his  clay 
pipe  clenched  between  his  teeth ;  and  so  agilely,  more 
and  more,  did  he  conduct  himself  that  his  pride  ex- 
panded with  each  athletic  avoidance  of  overthrow  and 
destruction,  his  eyes  shone  with  the  exercise,  his  cheeks 
were  braw  with  color,  and,  though  riding  only  in  a 
miserable  oxcart,  to  be  sure,  yet  Rob  began  actually 
to  glow  with  the  sensation  of  being  a  big,  skillful,  devil- 
may-care,  masterful  wildman. 

Then  it  was  that  a  domestic  cat,  having  either 
through  some  malign  human  persuasion,  or  else  through 
some  sullen  grief  and  purpose  of  her  own,  deserted  the 
affiliations  of  her  proper  home  for  a  flight  into  the 
woods,  sprang  pointedly,  and  with  a  swiftness  as 
though  she  had  been  winged,  across  the  road  right  in 
the  faces  of  the  oxen. 

From  no  former  movement  that  Rob  had  ever  dis- 
cerned in  them  could  he  have  anticipated  the  panther- 
like  celerity  of  the  elliptic  which  they  now  performed  in 
the  upper  circles  of  the  atmosphere.  The  ponderous 
climax  of  their  descent  he  observed  from  a  sitting 
posture  in  the  perturbed  and  indignant  center  of  a 
mountain  spring ;  the  plank  which  had  so  recently  been 
his  insecure  support  had  hurtled  harmlessly  over  his 
head,  giving  him  in  its  fall  a  no  more  dignified  attack 
than  the  throwing  of  a  jocose  splinter  to  tickl$  his  left 


JOGGINS— NOT    SO    STEEP  103 

ear ;  while  the  oxen  continued  down  Joggins  on  a  run 
not  now  so  swift  as  it  was  deafeningly  celebrant  with 
noise. 

Bate,  with  an  improvised  whip,  sprang  out  from 
the  bushes  and  stayed  this  unbecoming  spectacle  of 
ponderous  levity.  Another  figure  emerged  with  the 
deceptive  manner  as  of  having  paused  for  diversion  on 
its  legitimate  way  to  important  affairs.  Captain 
Belcher  leaned  against  a  tree,  not  weeping  in  spirit, 
though  his  appearance  was  certainly  that  of  an  hysteri- 
cal mourner.  He  mopped  his  eyes  and  cheeks  with  a 
handkerchief  of  unutterable  hue. 

"  That  circus  you  giv'  me  t'other  day  wan't  com- 
plete without  a  chariot  race,"  he  moaned,  "  was  it, 
Mr.  Lee?  I  knew  the  chariot  race  'ud  have  ter  come, 
and,  by  Tunk,  it  has  come." 

Other  apparitions  hailed  from  the  covert  of  the 
wood,  other  evidences  of  lively  entertainment  greeted 
poor  Rob's  wounded  ear  ere  yet  he  had  had  time  to 
rise  from  his  sitting  posture  in  the  pool  by  the  wayside. 
Devoutly  then  he  even  wished  that  he  might  discover  a 
broken  bone  to  shame  this  heartless  ribaldry:  but  he 
found  on  rising  that  he  was  entirely  whole,  nay,  even 
limbered  by  his  abrupt  descent  into  the  ditch. 

Whether  to  turn  and  go  home — and  meet  Mary 
Stingaree,  and  Mrs.  By  jo,  who  had  become  a  factor 
serious  to  cope  with — no;  Rob  braced  himself.  His 
head  was  clear,  and  humiliation  at  a  certain  depth 
suffers  a  rebound.  He  advanced  with  squared  shoulders 
to  the  group  surrounding  the  oxen. 

"  I'm  downright  sorry,  Bate,"  he  said.  "  I  had  an 
impression,  somehow,  that  oxen  never  got  frightened. 


104  POWER    LOT 

If  you  hadn't  been  in  the  woods,  my  carelessness  might 
have  done  lots  of  damage  to  your  team.  I  ought  to 
have  been  on  my  guard." 

"  I  knew  somethin'  'd  happen  to  ye,"  replied  Bate 
ungraciously,  examining  the  yoke  straps. 

"  Well,  may  I  go  on  with  the  oxen?  "  said  Rob.  "  I'll 
walk  along  at  their  heads  this  time." 

"  Oh,  g'wan,"  said  Bate ;  "  ye  may  as  well  make  a 
day  of  it." 

Rob  tramped  on  almost  clingingly  close  to  the  horned 
beasts  who  had  betrayed  him;  though  he  was  now  ap- 
parently alone,  he  was  skeptical;  the  air  was  somehow 
rife  with  mischief  and  the  tinkling  bells  on  the  oxen's 
necks  seemed  to  mock  his  sad,  defeated  heart.  Even  in 
Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  he  was  already  a  jest  and  a 
byword,  and  now  at  Bear  River  he  had  become  a  by- 
word and  a  hissing.  By  the  shores  of  the  great  Basin 
there  were  some  neat  houses  where  retired  sea  captains 
and  moderately  prosperous  farmers  dwelt,  a  society 
away  beyond  his  reach ;  so  felt  Mr.  Robert  Hilton,  late 
millionaire. 

So  judged  he  implicitly  in  his  really  modest,  even 
childlike,  heart,  however  great  his  outward  bravado, 
that  only  the  lowest  of  the  low  would  tolerate  him,  and 
they,  perchance,  but  condescendingly. 

Judging  by  the  Tee-bo  cabin,  down  the  River,  they, 
too,  were  the  lowest  of  the  low.  Would  Cuby  have 
arrived  and  be  waiting  to  meet  him  on  the  beach  as  she 
had  promised?  No,  she  was  not  there,  he  found;  nor 
did  she  come.  The  tide  was  low,  it  chanced,  and  he 
was  saved  that  much  ridicule.  He  had  made  no  reckon- 
ing concerning  it,  and  it  was  only  by  luck  that  he  had 


JOGGINS— NOT    SO    STEEP  105 

not  come  down,  so  perilously  and  ignominiously,  with 
the  oxen  to  gather  rockweed  at  high  tide. 

He  halted  his  oxen  successfully  at  the  place  where 
Cuby  had  admonished  him  to  gather  in  those  spoils  of 
the  sea,  but  he  had  forgotten  to  bring  rake,  pitchfork, 
or  sheath-knife.  Some  sparse,  ragged  kelp  had  been 
drifted  up  on  the  beach,  however,  and  to  save  himself 
from  the  shame  of  complete  futility,  he  began  gather- 
ing it  up  in  his  hands  and  carrying  it  to  the  cart. 
Though  he  toiled  arduously,  the  accumulated  product 
was  startlingly  insignificant.  He  looked  not  much 
about  him,  so  grievously  conscious  was  he  of  unseen 
existences  in  the  atmosphere  peering  derisively  down 
upon  his  toils. 

On  the  contrary,  the  voice  that  did  actually  assail 
him  was  mild,  feeling,  almost  timid: 

"  What  in  Tamarack  be  you  a-doin'?  "  it  said. 

Rob  looked  up  and  found  that  he  was  alone  with  the 
sea,  the  bowlders,  and  an  old  man  in  a  fur  cap,  red 
woolen  stockings,  and  short  trousers  of  sacking.  But 
it  was  the  old  man's  face  that  held  Rob's  attention, 
framed  as  it  was  in  white  hair  blowing  in  the  wind,  and 
with  eyes  like  large,  young,  sinless  violets  looking  out 
from  the  sod  and  seam  of  weather-beaten  features. 

"  What — tamarack  what  ?  "  said  poor  Rob  inquisi- 
tively, in  his  confusion. 

"  Wai',  what  in  tarnation  thunder,  then,  be  you 
a-doin'?" 

"  Why,  I  was  going  to  take  a  little  rockweed  up  to 
dress  my  land." 

"  Le'  me  see,  you're  the  feller  what's  come  from 
New  York  up  to  Power  Lot,  ain't  ye?  God  help  us." 


106  POWER    LOT 

This  instant  recognition  of  him  through  his  dilemma 
did  not  seem  flattering  to  Rob. 

"  I  am,"  he  replied  coldly,  "  Robert  Hilton.  Whom 
have  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing?  " 

'*  Skipper.  Skipper  '11  do.  I  ain't  heard  no  other 
name  so  long,  I  'most  forgot  I  got  any  other  name." 
Pride,  tinged  with  vanity,  dwelt  peacefully  on  the  old 
man's  lips  as  he  uttered  this  term. 

Rob  melted.  "  I  am  delighted,"  he  said,  stepping 
forward,  "  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Skipper." 

"  Oh,  wal',  I  don't  know  as  we  c'd  call  it  gittin'  ac- 
quainted, yit,"  said  the  old  man  conscientiously,  "  tho' 
it  may  come  to  that  ef  we  keep  on.  Ye  got  a  h'ist, 
didn't  ye?" 

"What?" 

"  Yer  clo's,  to  aft  o'  ye  thar,  look  as  though  ye'd  had 
a  h'ist." 

"  Yes — oh,  yes — I  had  a  h'ist,  all  right.  The  oxen 
shied  at  a  cat." 

"  Slewed  and  upsot  ye,  eh?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Hurt  ye?" 

"  No,"  said  Rob  bitterly,  "  I  almost  wish  it  had." 

"  Sho,  don't  you  go  wigglin'  yer  finger  at  Providence 
temptin'  Him  to  heave  aches  and  pains  on  to  ye.  I 
know,  for  I'm  a  victim  o'  rheumatiz:  it's  ache  and  pain, 
pain  and  ache,  throb  and  beat,  beat  and  throb,  and, 
some  nights,  roll  and  toss,  toss  and  roll — roll  and  toss, 
toss  and  roll." 

"  As  it  is  out  yonder,"  said  Rob,  the  vivid  restless- 
ness of  Skipper's  phrase  turning  him  to  the  poetry  of 
the  sea. 


JOGGINS— NOT    SO    STEEP  107 

"  I  use'  ter  be  the  very  toughest  devil  'long  shore 
here,"  Skipper  confided,  looking  out  wistfully  to  sea. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  possible." 

"  It's  down  in  black  and  white  in  the  Books  ag'in' 
me,"  affirmed  the  old  man,  with  a  reminiscent  sigh  of 
satisfaction.  "  I  was  the  streakin'est,  ontamable  dog 
't  ever  made  out  on  the  Bay  o'  Fundy — but  rheumatiz 
has  tamed  me." 

Rob's  own  actual  physical  sufferings  returned  to  his 
recollection,  and  he  yearned  as  to  a  kindred  soul. 

"  I  was  a  gre't  drinker,  too,"  boasted  Skipper, t  plac- 
idly, "  an'  Gosh  A'mighty,  the  perf anity  I  use'  ter 
use!" 

He  was  preaching,  perhaps.  Rob  bridled.  "  I  sup- 
pose you've  heard  some  sort  of  meddling,  unkind  stories 
about  me,"  he  suggested,  reddening. 

"  Never  seen  ye  nor  heern  tell  of  ye,  afore,  'cept  ye 
was  somebody  comin'  ter  Power  Lot,  f'r  yer  health, 
God  help  us."  There  was  no  curiosity  and  little  interest 
in  the  strangely  undimmed,  deep-set  eyes  of  the  old  man. 
Those  pansied  eyes  gave  to  his  face  an  expression  of 
womanly  tenderness,  rendered  only  more  wistful  by  his 
professed  hankering  after  past  wildness. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  was  a  devil-screecher,  I  was.  I  was  a 
roarer." 

"  I've  been  something  of  a  roarer,  too,"  Rob  confided 
in  turn,  all  his  suspicions  allayed. 

"  Was  ye?  "  said  Skipper,  wakening.  "  Master  or 
mate?  " 

"  Master,"  blurted  out  Rob,  with  tears  of  regret  and 
desolation  in  his  eyes,  "  and  a  d — d  poor  one,  too." 

"Run  her  on  the  ledges,  mebby,  an'  wrecked  her?" 


108  POWER    LOT 

"  Yes." 

"  NevJ  mind.  Nev'  mind ;  ye're  young ;  y'll  fittcn 
out  a  new  vessel  an'  gallop  'er  over  seas,  yit,  you  will. 
What's  the  next  cruise  ye're  cal'latin'  on?" 

"  New  York  City." 

"  Sho !  You  strike  Pr  different  orders,  you  'ply  f  r 
another  berth.  Sho,  down  among  them  *  trusts  ' ;  ef  I 
was  you  I'd  make  f'r  some  Christian  port,  or  innerccnt 
heathen  one,  I  would.  Trusts,  blame  durn  'em,  my  las' 
Sunday  roast  cost  me  thirty-four  cents,  an'  she  didn't 
weigh  quite  on  to  six  pounds,  neither ;  an'  them  trusts 
is  to  the  bottom  of  it,  durn  blast  'em." 

"  What  kind  of  meat  was  it?  " 

"  Sirline.  Lo'ette  an'  me  ain't  got  our  'riginal  God- 
bestowed  grinders  no  longer;  sirline  's  tough  's  we're 
able  to  chaw  up  at  our  time  o'  the  day." 

"  What  did  you  use  to  pay  for  your  Sunday  roast?  " 

"Twenty  cents,"  sighed  Skipper. 

"  It's  becoming  an  iniquitous  imposition  on  you," 
said  Rob  sympathetically. 

"  Don't  say  a  word.  Look  at  medicines  and  doctors 
— they've  got  on  to  the  dicker,  too.  Had  a  little  fric- 
tion in  my  throat;  rheumatiz  left  my  legs,  one  time, 
'long  about  first  o'  May,  an'  hived  up  in  my  throat. 
Sent  the  descriptions  o'  my  case  to  a  young  doctor  the' 
was  then  down  to  Bear  River,  an',  by  Tamarack,  I  sent 
ten  cents,  too,  along  o'  the  descriptions.  He  sent  me 
back  a  leetle  box  o'  pills." 

"Did  they  help  you?" 

"They  purty  nigh  done  for  me.  I  lay  so  low  the 
case  was  took  out  o'  my  hands,  an'  the  critter  came  up 
thar'  twice  a  day  in  'tendance  on  me,  till  I  got  my  mor- 


JOGGINS— NOT    SO    STEEP  109 

tality  up  as  whar'  I  could  shout  ag'in — then  says  I, 
'  You  go  home  an'  make  out  yer  bill ;  I  ain't  goin' 
to  continue  the  treatment  no  longer.' " 

"  How  much  was  the  bill?  "  Rob  ventured. 

"  Fifty  cents,  by  Kresis.  I  paid  the  bill,  but  I  got 
my  opinions  o'  that  doctor.  Sick  er  well,  I'll  anchor 
up  by  Peruny  the  rest  o'  my  days." 

"  Is  Peruny  cheap  ?  "  Rob  questioned,  with  childlike 
faith. 

"  She  ain't  so  cheap,"  said  Skipper,  with  intonations 
of  savory  reminiscence,  "  as  she  is  toothsome.  Water's 
all  right,  but  a  man  't  's  been  the  dog  I  been  wants 
to  tie  up  once  in  a  while  to  somethin'  't  's  got  a  wasp 
in  it.  Now,  look  at  them  gulls !  Jest  look !  " 

Rob  looked. 

"  They  got  a  blame  durn  trust  o'  their  own,"  said 
Skipper.  "  I  come  down  here  to  smelt  a  bit." 

"To  what?" 

"  Wai',  not  so  much  to  smelt  as  to  herrin'.  I  reck- 
oned to  git  a  few  off  the  boys;  but  jest  look  thar'. 
Soon  as  a  few  herrin'  pokes  in,  the  gulls  comes  an' 
picks  'em  up.  See  'em,  huverin'  an'  watchin' — ain't 
that  a  *  trust '  ?  New  York — you  make  f 'r  some  decent 
port,  young  man.  Wai',  I  got  ter  scrabble  up  the 
bluffs  to'ds  home." 

Skipper  turned  unceremoniously. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Rob,  holding  out  his  hands.  Rob 
had  a  lonesome  look.  "  I'd  like  to  come  up  and  see 
you  and  Mrs.  Skipper  some  time,"  he  almost  pleaded. 

"  God-in-heaven,"  said  the  old  man,  with  frank  sur- 
prise at  the  craving  look  and  tone ;  "  why  in  Tamarack 
don't  ye  come  then?  Lo'ette  ain't  much  ter  look  at, 


110  POWER    LOT 

hut  she's  a  good  woman,  my  woman  is ;  one  o'  these 
'ore  flowcr-rnisin',  Bible-readin',  meetin'-goin'  kind.  It's 
a  good  kind  ter  have.  I'm  more  'n  satisfied.  Phew, 
thar'  it  is,  pain  an'  ache,  ache  an'  pain,  beat  an'  throb, 
throb  an'  beat,  an'  sometimes  roll  an'  toss,  toss  an'  roll ; 
roll  an'  toss,  toss  an' " 

Rob  gathered  the  dying  cadences  of  Skipper's  apos- 
trophe to  rheumatism  as  he  watched  him  climb  the 
bluffs  to  the  comfortable  white  house  in  the  distance. 
Rob,  who  had  been  very  rich,  who  had  been  assiduously 
courted,  before  his  downward  course  became  too  fool- 
ish and  rapid — Rob  looked  with  awe  to  that  ordinary 
white  house  and  the  coveted  privilege  of  calling  on 
that  sad  dog,  the  skipper,  and  his  old  wife  Lo'ette. 
He  was  comforted,  though,  by  his  communion  with  a 
fellow-creature.  The  tide  had  crept  in  and  regathered 
the  rockweed  from  the  beach;  so  he  started  the  oxen 
pensively  homeward  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  amount 
of  sea-spoil,  lying  withered  and  puny  on  the  cart- 
bottom. 

He  felt  that  bright  Cuby  Tee-bo,  with  the  others, 
had  given  him  over  to  ridicule,  and  he  tramped  on  au- 
tomatically, with  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  with  the 
intention  of  getting  up  the  Joggins  road  in  time  to 
saw  enough  wood  to  pay  for  his  supper.  He  was 
taking  in  this  new  life  stupidly,  but,  now  that  his  head 
was  clear,  with  a  sort  of  dogged  faithfulness. 

"Daisy!  Halloo!" 

An  imperative  voice,  subdued  to  confidence,  certified 
him  of  an  engaging  presence  near;  at  the  same  time 
he  caught  the*  starlight  and  sunlight  of  brown  eyes 
peering  out  at  him,  all  the  more  luminous  for  the  con- 


JOGGINS— NOT    SO    STEEP  111 

trast  they  made  with  the  dark  firs  skirting  the  Joggins 
road. 

"Why,  Cuby.  Hello,  Cuby.  How  do  you  do?" 
Rob,  the  forsaken,  could  hardly  believe  his  good  luck. 
"  Why  didn't  you  come  to  the  beach  as  you  said?  " 

«  'Cause  I'm  'shamed  o'  you— that's  why." 

Rob  saw  interest  and  affection  still  lurking  under  her 
forbidding  demeanor,  and,  bravely  smiling,  he  stood 
and  gazed  at  her  with  an  expression  of  ever-increasing 
fondness. 

"  Ridin'  bumpity-bump  like  a  green-a-horn  down 
Joggins,"  she  flouted  him ;  "  an'  gettin'  runaway  with 
them  oxen.  And  now,  look  me,  at  what  you  are  bringin' 
home.  The  boys  shall  make  a  laugh  at  you.  Already 
they  wait  with  Bate  to  help-a  you  onload.  Dump  out 
this  minute  that  so  small  little  mess  o'  weeds." 

"  Isn't  it  better  to  take  home  a  little  than  none, 
Cuby?" 

"  No,  it  is  not  so." 

With  her  Ifthe  brown  hands  she  was  already  scatter- 
ing the  weeds  as  indistinguishably  as  possible  into  the 
ditch.  Rob  without  further  question  sprang  to  aid 
her  in  the  sacrifice. 

"  But  now  I  cannot  '  dress '  my  land  any,"  he  ad- 
monished her. 

"  I  said  that  to  make  fool  of  you — and  to  have  you 
come  to  the  beach,"  she  admitted ;  "  but  I  knew  not 
that  you  was  already  such  a  fool  as  you  turn  yourself 
out  to  be.  No,  I  did  not." 

Rob  bit  the  lip  under  his  mustache.  Had  the  insult 
come  from  a  masculine  source  he  would  have  darted  an 
impetuous  blow  at  the  aggressor.  Offense  or  defense 


112  POWER    LOT 

were  not  to  be  thought  of  under  the  circumstances ;  in- 
dignation quickly  faded.  Cuby  was  bewitching,  in  spite 
of  the  fussy  Sunday  hat  which  she  had  donned  for  the 
occasion.  There  were  three  corners  to  this  hat,  and 
from  each  corner  depended  a  bunch  of  artificial  flowers. 
Cuby's  face  sparkled  between  lilies  of  the  valley  and 
full-blown  red  roses,  and  the  roses  were  wan  beside  her 
cheeks,  and  the  lilies  were  yellow  in  contrast  with  her 
teeth.  Added  to  all  this  brilliance,  there  was  a  pro- 
voking and  alluring  flame  in  her  eyes. 

"  Bate,  he  says  you  have  begun  to  make  courtin'  at 
his  sister,  Ma'y  Sting'ree." 

"  It's  a  lie — oh,  she's  a  nice  girl — woman — enough, 
for  aught  I  know,  but  I — I  don't  want  her." 

"  Bate  wants  me"  said  Cuby ;  "  he  wishes  for  to 
get  engage'  to  me  mighty  bad,  too — that  I  can  tell-a 
you." 

A  queenly  indecision  among  suitors  hung  on  her 
red  lips,  and  she  breathed  like  some  wild,  sweet  thing 
of  the  forest.  Rob  straightway  put  his  arm  tenderly 
over  her  shoulder. 

"  I  know  somebody  I  do  love,"  he  murmured,  his 
winsome  face  dangerously  close  to  her  passionate  one. 

"  Quit  you !  "  cried  Cuby  imperiously.  "  We  are 
not  yet  engage'." 

"Well,  but  why  can't  we  be  engaged,  Cuby?"  sug- 
gested desolate  Rob,  and  he  held  her  closer,  and  his 
lips  pressed  hers;  and  now  he  was  ready  to  fight  for 
her. 

Cuby  did  not  turn  pale;  she  was  not  so  much  in 
love  but  that  she  remained  complete  master  of  the 
situation  and  deliberately,  romantically,  and  skillfully 


JOGGINS— NOT    SO    STEEP  113 

played  her  victim  still  further  with  the  spell  of  her 
flashing  beauty. 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  so  beeg,  so  gr-r-rand,  Rober',  when 
you  wish;  why  do  you  not  knock  the  stuffin's  out  o' 
them?" 

Rob  could  have  caught  her  in  his  arms,  so  exquisitely 
beautiful  was  she  in  contrast  with  the  virile  matter  of 
her  speech. 

"  You  shall  see,"  he  hissed  through  his  strong  white 
teeth,  in  a  sympathetic  ardor  of  animosity,  but,  above 
all,  longing  to  hug  Cuby  Tee-bo. 

"  Me — no — I  fear  you  are  too  sof,"  she  hesitated 
sadly ;  "  they  make  such  a  laugh,  I  almost  cry,  an' 
am  mad;  almost  they  hear  me  out  loud  I  am  so  mad, 
that,  after  all  I  tell  you,  you  make  yourself  so  '  sissy.' 
Ugh !  Bah !  An'  stay  not  on  the  board,  no,  but  wreegle 
yourself,  an'  go  bumpity-bump,  bumpity-bump — oh, 
tarn ! — an'  then  make  yourself  one  beeg  tumble." 

"  Very  well,  Cuby,  I  was  careless,  but  another  time 
Rob  Hilton  stays  on  the  board — will  you  remember 
that?  And  right  now  you've  got  to  beg  my  pardon 
for  calling  me  *  Daisy,'  a  while  ago — beg !  beg!  " 

"  I  think  I  see  myself  making  baig  to  such  a  sof 
ninny-sheep  like  you  be." 

This,  with  Cuby's  daring  nature,  was  nothing  less 
than  an  approving  challenge,  and  Rob  promptly  took 
advantage  of  it  to  imprint  another  kiss  on  her  tempt- 
ing mouth ;  at  the  same  time  he  squeezed,  and  roughly, 
the  little  hand  folded  in  his. 

"  Beg,"  he  commanded. 

"  Wai',  then,"  at  last  confessed  Cuby  hopefully,  "  I 
baig."  She  added,  however,  with  great  earnestness: 


114  POWER    LOT 

"  Everything — everything,  I  think,  run  away  with 
you.  Even  a  leetle  lamb,  so  weak  as  nothin',  make 
beeg  bluff,  maybe,  an'  run  away  with  you.  Everything 
run  away  with  you." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  true,"  said  Rob  sternly ;  "  anyway, 
Cuby — sweet — you  have  run  away  with  me." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

AS   A   PUGILIST 

"  TEN  dozens  of  them  already ;  fine  linen,  shirts,  col- 
lars, handkerchiefs — what  can  be  done  with  them, 
Robert?" 

Mary  herself  looked  as  stumped  in  the  matter  as 
did  Rob. 

"Why,  of  course,"  he  exclaimed  promptly,  "I'll 
send  them  out  to  be  laundered — where  can  I  send 
them?" 

"  That  is  just  it,"  Mary  replied.  "  '  Echo  answers, 
Where?  '  There's  no  such  work,  in  such  quantities  at 
least,  done  anywhere  about  here;  I  don't  know  of  any 
woman  who  could  do  it,  or  would  have  the  time, 
with  her  other  cares ;  you  see,  it  would  take  her  days, 
and  the  pile  constantly  increasing." 

Rob's  head  swam  and  his  heart  sank  as  the  various 
pressing  necessities  of  existence,  hitherto  unconsidered 
or  taken  as  a  matter  of  course,  now  stared  him  in  the 
face — and  he  with  only  one  dollar  left  in  his  pocket, 
if  the  truth  were  known.  The  woodpile  warned  him, 
too,  that  for  his  very  sustenance  he  was  in  arrears. 
Where,  moreover,  and  from  whence,  were  to  come  means 
for  the  "  suckers  " — the  staple  article  of  Bear  River 
confectionery — with  which  it  had  been  his  pleasure  to 
supply  lovely  Cuby?  Where  and  from  whence  were 
to  come  those  sodden  "  plugs  "  of  molasses-and-ginger 
115 


116  POWER    LOT 

tobacco  which  he  had  grown  to  regard  in  some  sense 
as  a  mitigation  of  his  sorrows? 

"  I've  got  to  get  back  to  New  York,"  he  ejaculated. 
"  I  have  friends  there.  Isn't  there  some  way  I  can 
get  back  to  New  York,  Miss  Stingaree?  "  he  appealed 
to  her  in  almost  a  wheedling  tone.  "  Can't  you  get 
Jim  to  sail  me  over  to  Waldeck  station?  I  can  manage 
then — somehow — to  get  back  home.  I  tell  you,  I  must 
go.  Won't  you  help  me  to  arrange  it,  Miss  Stin- 
garee? " 

"  7  wouldn't  give  up,"  said  Mary,  a  pride  transcend- 
ing that  of  Lucifer  flaming  in  her  eyes ;  "  not  for  the 
sake  of  some  starched  shirts  and  collars.  I  wouldn't 
give  up  any  honest  work  I  had  begun — to  go  away  and 
beg,  and  cling  like  an  infant  to  others  for  support,  not 
if  I  died  for  it." 

Her  look  was  too  far  above  and  away  from  him  to 
flatter  him  as  the  probing  of  any  speciousness  in  his 
conduct.  She  was  clearly  brave  and  matter-of-fact, 
and,  otherwise,  indifferent.  But,  oh,  she  was  splendid, 
thought  poor  Rob,  and  he  bit  his  lip  and  turned  piti- 
fully pale. 

"Well,  what— what  shall  I  do,  Miss  Stingaree?" 

She  smiled  kindly.  She  was  so  radiantly  far  away, 
but  no  shame  or  contempt  attached  to  her  spcec'h. 

"Why  not  do  your  washing,  to  begin  with?  Wash 
these  fine  things  and  put  them  away.  Wear  your  out- 
ing-flannels hereafter;  surely  you  have  some?  And 
you  can  wash  them  yourself  every  week.  It  is  very 
simple." 

Rob  stood  with  his  mouth  open  until  this  vein  of 
reasoning  had  pierced  his  laggard  intelligence.  Rob 


HOW   CAN   YOU   TURN   YOUR   HACK  ON   THAT  VIEW?" 


AS   A   PUGILIST  117 

Hilton  doing  his  own  washing !  He  advanced  by  leaps, 
however,  when  some  rugged  pinnacle  of  attainment  ap- 
pealed to  his  ever-ready  sense  of  novelty. 

"  Gee ! "  he  beamed  on  Mary ;  and  with  that  mirth- 
abounding  smile  he  threw  to  the  winds  all  the  hitherto 
stringent  conventions  and  wearily  artificial  superflui- 
ties of  existence ;  his  language  became  confidingly  reck- 
less, too,  and  smacked  fearlessly  of  the  Skipper  and 
Belcher  vocabulary.  "  Gee ! "  he  commended  Mary, 
"you're  it!  I'll  do  it!  what  in— Tamarack,  do  I 
care?  " 

Forthwith,  then,  he  brought  up  the  washtubs  from 
the  cellar,  carried  water  from  the  well,  tempered  it  with 
carefully  prized  donations  from  the  teakettle  in  the 
kitchen,  and  proceeded  to  scrub  his  fine  linen,  whistling 
a  jubilant  accompaniment  as  he  stood  over  the  wash- 
bench  out  of  doors. 

"  How  can  you  turn  you  back  on  that  view?  "  cried 
Mary  very  pleasantly  from  the  door. 

Rob  wheeled  round.  White-capped  bay,  tumbling 
basin ;  to  the  left,  the  swelling  river  flanked  by  its  tragic 
hills ;  he,  upon  vaster  heights ;  all  round  him  an  infinite 
wild  country.  There  came  to  him  in  that  instant  the 
thought,  that  just  to  live — to  live,  and  stand,  and 
breathe — was  inexpressibly  dramatic. 

"  It's  great,"  he  admitted  with  bared  head,  in  a  tone 
of  honest  solemnity  to  Mary. 

"  By  the  One-Eyed  Monocle,"  he  murmured  later 
to  the  sud  of  the  washboard,  unconsciously  repro- 
ducing a  phrase  of  the  cosmopolitan  Belcher,  "  but 
this  perch,  all  'round  here,  is  only  fit  for  eagles." 

Eagles,  indeed,  were  frequently  heard  screaming  by 


118  TOWER    LOT 

day,  loons  wailed  by  night.  Rob  fancied  that  he  en- 
joyed the  loons. 

"  They've  probably  made  fools  o*  themselves — like 
me,"  he  consented  drowsily,  on  those  occasions  when 
their  forlorn  cadences  had  penetrated  to  his  car  at 
night. 

But  the  view  was  beginning  to  interest  him,  and  the 
breeze  had  salty  life  in  it.  Work,  sweat,  were  miracu- 
lously ridding  him  of  his  muscular  stiffness  and  pains. 
The  craving  for  strong  drink  was  maddening  at  times, 
but  after  all  what  time  had  he  to  consider  the  matter? 
Sawing  and  splitting  wood  in  the  fierce,  silent  pride  of 
attempting  to  maintain  his  independence,  as  well  as 
to  supply  daily  sop  to  an  increasingly  unappeasable 
appetite;  plowing,  planting,  and  all  the  rest  of  it;  no 
more  Joggins,  but  rushing  down  the  steep  way,  in  some 
brief  rest  from  toil  and  back  again,  with  sustained 
breath  now,  bearing  a  kiss  from  Cuby.  Altogether,  the 
days  were  investing  Rob  with  a  sort  of  kaleidoscopic 
impetuosity  of  exercise. 

Between  meals  he  fed  an  unstilled  inward  appeal 
with  unmeasured  quantities  of  water  from  the  spring; 
and  there  was  still  a  store  of  apples  in  the  cellar. 
Bate's  custom  was  to  pick  up  an  armful  of  apples,  re- 
tire with  them  to  the  pig-pen  fence,  and,  munching  the 
sounder  specimens  himself,  to  throw  over  the  decayed 
ones  to  the  pigs,  while  he  observed  with  meditative 
interest  the  lack  of  courtesy  prevailing  within  the 
pen,  occasionally  throwing  over  for  his  own  entertain- 
ment a  paring  or  a  core  to  swell  to  livelier  dimensions 
the  unlovely  holocaust  of  rivalry  among  the  swine. 

Rob  had  sometimes  allowed  the  most  unattractive  of 


AS    A    PUGILIST  119 

the  fruit,  together  with  discarded  cores  and  skins,  to 
slip  heedlessly  from  his  hands  to  earth;  until  on  one 
occasion  he  saw  Bate  thriftily  gathering  them  up  and 
bearing  them  to  the  pen  for  purposes  both  of  utility 
and  mental  revelry,  as  herein  before  described. 

Not  wishing  any  further  to  antagonize  him,  whose 
sweetheart  he  had  already  inadvertently  stolen  in  his 
careless,  off-hand  manner,  Rob  gathered  up  a  recupera- 
tive supply  of  apples  from  the  cellar  and  went  to  join 
Bate  for  a  few  moments  of  friendly  converse  by  the 
pig-pen  fence. 

Bate  morosely  paid  no  attention  to  this  tacit  appeal 
for  mortal  communion. 

"  I  tell  you,  Bate,"  said  Rob,  nevertheless,  in  his 
boyish,  laughing  voice,  putting  his  shining  teeth 
through  an  apple,  "  it's  deuced  funny,  the  way  we  get 
on  up  here,  isn't  it?  Bacon  fat  and  potato  make 
'  hash,'  and  we  have  hash  till  the  old  choppin'-tray  must 
be  worn  thin  as  an  eggshell ;  and  beans  and  meal 
bread — ha !  ha !  And  clams,  and  once  in  a  while  a  fish ; 
and  meat  for  Sundays !  Really,  you  ought  to  see  some 
of  the  steaks  we  have  in  New  York,  broiled,  two  inches 
thick,  served  up  with  mushrooms,  and,  for  incidentals, 
quail  and  terrapin,  and  scallops  and  frogs'  hind-legs ; 
and  sauterne,  and  claret,  and  port,  and  fizzy  cham- 
pagne, and  old  whisky,  and " 

Rob  smacked  his  lips,  an  aching  sorrow  in  his  eyes. 

"  Get  out  o'  here,"  said  Bate  gruffly. 

Rob  thought  Bate's  tone  signified  only  a  heart- 
broken appreciation  of  the  good  things  so  hopelessly 
beyond  his  reach,  and  he  went  on : 

"  Say,  the  first  few  times  I  ate  '  meat '  here,  I  couldn't 


120  POWER    LOT 

taste  it,  for  wondering  what  it  was.  Ha!  Ha!  Tough? 
Strings?  Oh,  Tamarack!  But,  now,  I'm  crazy  for  it. 
Honest,  Bate,  I  look  forward  to  the  day  when  old 
Sloke  '11  drive  his  butcher's  cart  up  Joggins,  full  o' 
leather  an'  shoestrings  an'  baseball  covers.  I  swipe 
mine  off  my  plate  as  fast  as  you  do,  now;  I  give  you 
my  word  I'm  hungry  an  hour  after  I've  filled  up  on 
beans  and  cornmeal,  and  then  it's  apples  and  water, 
and  water  and  apples — Ha!  Ha! — and  apples  and 
water,  and  water  and  apples " 

"  Get  out  o'  here !  "  repeated  Bate,  this  time  in  a  tone 
whose  inflections  were  unmistakably  not  those  of  sym- 
pathy. "  Just  as  soon  as  you  git  yer  muscle  up  a 
little,  Daisy  Lee,  I'll  give  ye  a  lickin'  ye  '11  never  f  urgit. 
But  I  don't  want  ter  maul  a  sissy;  so  ye're  safe." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Bate?"  said  Rob, 
deeply  chagrined  at  this  requital  of  his  kindly  meant 
overtures.  Bate  had  often  growled  openly  at  his  food 
and  at  Mary ;  while  Rob's  present  diatribe  had  been 
given  only  in  the  purest  jest,  feeling  as  he  did  keenly 
that  gratitude  was  an  eminently  becoming  garb  both 
for  himself  and  Bate  under  the  circumstances  in  which 
poor  Mary  did  her  lavish  best.  He  had  intended  only 
a  bit  of  jolly  intercourse  concerning  what  he  regarded 
as  their  mutual  epicurean  difficulties. 

Aside  from  that  he  considered  Bate  as  rather  a  sort 
of  third,  slow,  stupid  ox  on  the  place,  a  grumpy  beast 
of  burden. 

The  snarl  and  menace  were  a  disagreeable  surprise. 

"  He's  taking  this  excuse  to  attack  me,  because  Cuby 
likes  my  company,"  discerned  Rob  in  a  flash  of  mental 
acumen,  and  silently  he  regretted  that  he  had  made 


AS    A    PUGILIST  121 

Bate's  ear  the  storehouse  of  his  mirth ;  it  had  not  been 
worth  while. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Bate?"  he  asked, 
his  sunny  good-natured  face  and  tone  seeking  to  ig- 
nore the  later  phases  of  the  dilemma. 

"  Git  out  o'  here ! "  responded  Bate,  as  if  to  a  dog. 
"  Go  and  git  out  o'  my  sight,  Miss  Lee." 

"  See  here,  you  mangy  brute,  I  go  where  I  like,"  Rob 
advised  him  with  portent  emphasis.  "  You'd  better 
get  over  into  the  pen  there  with  your  mates." 

Bate  ground  his  teeth. 

"  Ef  you  darst  come  over  thar'  behind  the  firs,"  he 
suggested  tauntingly,  "  I'll  give  you  a  dose  you  can 
chaw  on  till  this  time  next  year.  Ef  you  darst,  an' 
ef  you  darsent  I'll  punish  ye  right  here  whar'  ye  be; 
an'  don't  cry,  f'r  perhaps  Ma'y  '11  come  out  an'  resky 
ye.  She  can  see  ye,  ef  ye  stay  right  whar'  ye  be." 

Rob,  making  no  pause  whatever  for  contemplation, 
marched  over  behind  the  firs.  He  towered  above  Bate, 
but  he  was  not  an  athlete,  nor  had  he  ever  made  any 
practice,  directly  or  indirectly,  toward  that  end.  He 
had  eluded  skillfully  the  bore  of  submitting  to  a  college 
education ;  his  travels  had  been  performed  in  the  most 
soft  and  luxurious  fashion. 

Bate,  in  spite  of  his  occasional  excesses,  had  the 
sturdy  muscles  indurate  through  habits  of  toil  and 
hardship. 

"  Here  I  am,"  sneered  Rob,  beside  himself  with  pas- 
sion, "  over  here  behind  the  firs  where  Miss  Stingaree 
can't  rescue  me.  Now  come  on  and  punish  me !  " 

At  the  word  Bate  sprang  toward  him,  aiming  a  swift, 
clean  blow  that  felled  him  to  earth. 


122  POWER    LOT 

Rob  rose  staggering — a  fiend  now,  an  incarnate  fury 
with  but  one  intent.  Life  or  death,  it  mattered  not; 
only  to  reach  that  sullen,  derisive  face  leering  at  him 
through  the  mist  of  his  pain  and  frenzy ;  with  fists, 
with  teeth,  with  tearing  finger-nails,  he  cared  not  how, 
but  he  felt  that  he  should  reach  that  black  taunting 
goal  before  he  died,  and  his  blood  surged  with  a  blind- 
ing ferocity.  Bate,  grinning,  teased  him,  affected  to 
play  with  him,  raining  down,  however,  at  every  oppor- 
tunity the  sting  of  malicious  blows.  Rob  reached  a 
point  at  last  where  he  did  not  feel  those  blows,  but 
they  fell  off  from  him  as  from  a  thing  insensate ; 
his  working,  streaming  face  had  taken  on  a  deadly 
quiet,  his  bloodshot  eyes  a  superhuman  steadiness  and 
watchfulness.  Bate  contemptuously  interpreted  this  as 
the  glazing  sign  of  accepted  defeat ;  and  at  that  in- 
stant he  found  himself  sprawling  on  his  back  under  the 
scintillant  glare  of  two  blue  eyes  that  looked  as  big 
as  suns,  modified  only  by  an  area  of  set  white  teeth  that 
seemed  of  sufficient  purpose  to  devour  him;  for,  with 
the  intensity  of  his  attack,  Rob  had  fallen  with  him  and 
upon  him. 

Thus,  fettering  his  opponent  by  his  unexerted 
weight,  and  restraining  him  with  the  clutch  of  desper- 
ate arms,  Rob  gazed  down  upon  him,  and  the  blood 
from  his  pink  and  white  face  dropped  down  upon  Bate's 
swarthy  features. 

"  H'ist  yerself ,  you  mad  ox ! "  said  Bate,  with  the 
first  impulse  of  his  recovered  breath.  "  Heave  yer- 
self up,  you  d — d  side-of-a-barn !  This  ain't  no  fair 
play." 

Rob  tightened  the  strenuous  grip  that  held  his  victim. 


AS    A    PUGILIST  123 

"This  ain't  play,"  he  sobbed  with  spent  breath; 
"  guess  you'll  find  I'm  in  earnest  'fore  I  get  through 
with  you." 

"  You  durn  mountain  of  a  fool-baby,  let  me  up,  I 
say." 

Rob,  a  little  appeased  by  the  sight  of  blood  on  his 
victim's  face,  grinned  triumphantly  in  rejoinder. 

"  Say,  *  Mr.  Hilton,  I've  had  enough,  if  you  please," 
and  I'll  let  you  up." 

Bate  lay  smoldering  with  hate  and  fury,  scornfully 
silent.  Rob's  breath  began  to  come  less  like  the  gasp 
of  the  dying,  and  he  warily  strengthened  the  fastnesses 
of  his  position.  Bate's  very  frame  began  to  resent  the 
stricture  of  those  confining  arms ;  moreover  someone 
might  appear  on  the  scene  and  find  him  in  this  ridiculous 
and  humiliating  plight. 

"  Say,  Rob,  let  me  up,"  he  said,  in  a  bitter  travesty 
of  a  conciliatory  tone,  "  and  we'll  call  it  quits." 

"  Say  '  Mr.  Hilton,  I've  had  enough,  if  you  please." 

"  Curse  ye,  ye  may  stay  there  till  yer  arms  rot  off, 
then." 

But  while  this  disagreeable  process  was  in  its  merest 
inception,  Mary  Stingaree  suddenly  appeared  around 
the  edge  of  the  fir  trees. 

"  You  promised  me  you  would  not  do  that,"  she  ex- 
claimed impetuously  to  Bate ;  then,  realizing  the  actual 
situation,  and  that  it  was  Bate,  and  not  Rob,  who  lay 
vanquished,  she  stood  in  speechless  wonder. 

"  I  was  pastin'  him  blind,"  Bate  made  haste  to  as- 
sert, "  when  the  great  moon-calf  teetered  and  fell  on 
me.  I  thought  the  North  mountain  had  tumbled." 

"  Say,"   simply   repeated  Rob,  in  Mary's  presence, 


124  POWER    LOT 

with  unctious  accents  of  politeness,  "  say  *  Mr.  Hil- 
ton, I've  had  enough,  if  you  please,'  and  I'll  let  you  up." 

Bate  snorted,  and  spake  not. 

"  Let  him  up,  Robert,"  said  Mary. 

At  the  lady's  command  Rob  rose  regretfully. 
"  Which  is  it,"  he  observed,  however,  smoothly  to  Bate, 
"  which  is  it  that  Miss  Stingaree  has  *  rescued  '  ?  " 

Bate  made  another  spring  for  his  adversary;  but 
a  new  and  fresh  element  entered  the  arena  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  Bate's  truculency  wilted  down  into  a  faded 
and  surly  withdrawal  from  the  scene.  It  was  Mrs. 
By  jo,  calmly  and  curiously  inspecting  the  situation 
through  her  spectacles,  her  faithful  oxwhip  at  her  side. 

"  Quit  fightin',"  she  remarked  dispassionately. 

The  sole  remaining  belligerent,  Rob,  assented  to  this 
behest  with  a  bloody  smile. 

"  Yes  'm,"  he  subjoined  softly. 

The  eyes  that  gazed  through  Mrs.  By  jo's  spectacles 
were  not  so  very  old  after  all.  Rob  suspected  a  twinkle 
in  them,  and  a  twinkle  not  unfriendly  to  himself,  at 
that.  His  torn  heart,  shattered  and  left  empty  by  the 
retreating  surges  of  passion,  warmed  a  little. 

"  Excuse  me ;  I  think  I  need  to  go  and  take  a  bath," 
he  murmured,  spurning  from  his  mouth  the  warm  blood 
which  trickled  persistently  thither  from  his  nose. 

"  He  had  him  down,"  he  heard  Mary  confide  to  Mrs. 
By  jo,  as  he  retreated.  "  Rob  had  him  down !  "  The 
wonder  in  the  voice  cut  him  to  the  quick,  and  roused  his 
blood  again  to  a  vivifying  storm.  So  it  was  subject 
only  for  amaze  that  he  should  put  anything  down? 
Very  well,  very  well!  Having  washed  himself,  he  re- 
turned to  his  tubs ;  but  strangely  enough,  neither  blows 


AS    A    PUGILIST  125 

nor  the  loss  of  much  crimson  gore  had  weakened  him 
in  the  least;  an  apprehension  of  unmeasured  strength 
confused  and  at  the  same  time  sustained  him  as  he 
scrubbed  at  his  ignominious  task. 

Never  gleamed  clothes  whiter  from  the  hand  of  the 
fuller.  Unconsciously  Rob  had  put  into  their  cleans- 
ing the  foretaste  and  the  promise  of  a  consummate 
physical  prowess.  The  manner  in  which  he  hung  them 
on  the  line,  while  it  portrayed  an  intense  security  in 
the  adjustment  of  the  clothespins,  indicated,  otherwise, 
some  remarkable  preoccupation  of  mind. 

Tangled  bunches  of  handkerchiefs  and  collars  waved 
meekly  from  their  vise-like  attachment  to  the  line,  no 
hope  of  change,  no  dream  of  wandering  for  them. 
Shirts  suspended  variously,  by  the  neck,  by  one  arm, 
by  the  flap,  screamed  in  the  wind  as  they  shook  their 
disordered  members  menacingly  in  one  another's  faces. 
As  twilight  advanced — for,  by  reason  of  untoward 
events,  Rob's  washing  had  not  been  finally  presented 
as  a  spectacle  to  the  world  until  late  in  the  day — as 
the  shades  of  evening  deepened,  and  the  wind  abated 
not,  this  ghost-like  throng  upon  the  line  engaged  in 
wilder  antics  and  drearier  hissing  of  battle ;  so  that, 
it  was  said,  certain  young  people  from  Bear  River 
actually  thought  it  worth  their  while  to  climb  the 
steeps  and  stand  peering  in  painfully  suppressed  merri- 
ment from  behind  the  bunch  of  firs  in  order  to  view 
the  scene. 

It  was  well  for  Rob  that  he  plodded  stoutly  on,  un- 
conscious of  the  general  interest  which  attached  to 
this  experimentative  dawn  of  his  existence;  better  for 
him  too,  that  he  had  not  known  of  the  small  audience 


126  POWER    LOT 

gathered  previously  to  witness  his  gloved  attack  upon 
the  household  ham,  which  hung  in  the  back  shed. 

For,  let  it  be  duly  narrated,  having  put  out  his 
wash  in  the  manner  aforesaid,  he  had,  of  meditated 
and  silent  purpose,  hied  him  in  at  the  rear  door  of 
the  shed ;  had  there  stood  off  and  aimed  so  unerring 
and  ferocious  a  blow  at  the  ham  that  it  did  thereupon 
leap  from  its  hook  and  pound  down  with  a  monstrous 
noise  upon  the  floor. 

Rob,  glancing  warily  about  him,  and  believing  him- 
self undetected,  proceeded  to  drive  a  competent  bolt 
into  the  rafters,  and  hung  the  ham  thereon,  secured 
through  its  tendon  with  new  rope,  many  stranded  and 
heavily  tarred;  he  then  braced  off  to  renew  the  as- 
sault. 

Meanwhile,  Bate  had  entered  the  house  with  an  un- 
accustomed look  of  animation,  and  even  almost  of  good- 
nature, on  his  face. 

"  Say,  Ma'y,  come  on  out  to  the  shed.  Step  careful ! 
S-sh !  Now  peek  in  thar'  through  the  crack." 

Rob,  his  stage  accessories  complete,  had  just  entered, 
as  we  have  said,  on  the  first  scene  in  this  new  arena. 
The  look  he  bent  upon  the  ham  was  haughty,  significant, 
and  merciless.  He  dealt  the  ham  a  stunner,  and  the 
ham  swung  back  and  then  returned  to  reach  out  swiftly 
and  menacingly  after  him.  Rob  retreated  a  pace  with 
incredible  quickness,  then  darted  forward  again  to 
strike,  all  the  glory  and  ambition  of  those  renowned 
in  the  ring  shining  in  his  eyes.  The  combat  was  not 
unequal  on  the  whole.  The  ham  was  deep-salted,  tough, 
and  formidable  with  the  sinews  of  maturity.  Where 
Rob  had  the  advantage  of  inspired  calculation,  the  ham 


AS    A    PUGILIST  127 

had  the  enduring  obstinacy  of  a  creature  impervious 
to  suffering  or  fatigue. 

Rob  watched  his  opportunities  ever  more  and  more 
alertly  and  did  buffet  the  ham  right  valiantly;  until 
some  tired  swerve  of  his  wrist  caused  him  to  administer 
a  blow  that  so  reacted  upon  his  own  knuckles  he 
jumped  perpendicularly  with  the  pain  of  it,  and  as 
he  descended  the  ham,  too,  returned  from  its  flight  and 
fetched  him  a  broadside  of  punishment  that  sent  him 
reeling  against  the  meal  barrel,  to  its  overthrow  and 
his  own  accompanying  downfall.  Sadly,  too,  he  fell 
on  that  particular  rack  of  the  shed  where  a  setting  hen, 
unthroned  by  such  rude  means,  bristled  her  every 
feather  at  him  with  angry  maledictions,  and  even  pecked 
audaciously  at  his  already  battered  features. 

At  this  point  Bate  succumbed  to  a  breathless  spasm 
of  mirth.  Softly  he  let  himself  down  to  earth  and 
rolled  over  and  over  with  the  glee  of  his  emotions,  and 
silently  he  rolled  himself  to  a  safe  ground  of  vantage 
where  he  could  rise  and  slink  away,  leaving  Mary  as 
sole  occupant  of  the  proscenium  box. 

Mary  indeed  remained  fascinated  at  the  crack ; 
for  the  play  was  not  yet  done.  In  the  snatch  of  a 
breath  Rob  was  up  again,  and  now  the  ham  began  to 
receive  a  mellowing  that  would  stand  by  it  all  its  re- 
maining days,  to  the  frying-pan.  Though  both  cause 
and  environment  were  comical,  Rob's  face  and  figure 
grew  actually  heroic,  as,  yielding  now  not  one  inch  of 
ground,  sending  his  antagonist  thudding  back,  meet- 
ing its  rebound,  rebound  after  rebound,  with  the  un- 
erring stroke  of  his  fists,  swallowing  heedlessly  his  own 
pain  and  weariness  until  the  trick  was  wholly  his,  he 


128  POWER    LOT 

felt  that  the  just  Powers  of  the  air  acknowledged  him 
master  of  the  ring. 

"There,  sir,"  said  he,  stepping  away  as  with  a  bow 
from  the  dying  palpitations  of  his  enemy,  "  I'll  give 
you  some  more  to-morrow,  old  man.  You're  a  good 
fighter.  Ha!  ha!  Shake  hands.  Good-by,  till  we 
meet  again." 

During  this  adieu  Mary  had  recovered  herself  and 
discreetly  fled  to  the  house. 

The  pugilist,  very  slick  as  to  his  hair,  and  scrupu- 
lously clean  as  to  his  swollen  hands,  joined  the  family 
at  supper.  Mary  conversed  cheerfully  with  him,  a  cer- 
tain animation  in  her  manner  as  though  life,  instead 
of  demanding  her  steady  forbearance  and  patronage, 
had  accorded  her  a  little  genuine  interest  and  zest  on 
its  own  account.  Bate  thought  she  was  covertly  mak- 
ing fun  of  Rob,  and  was  well  satisfied.  Rob  himself 
connected  her,  in  his  thoughts,  with  a  foreign  woman 
of  quality  who  had  once  dawned  as  an  honored  guest 
upon  his  family  in  the  days  of  his  childhood.  That 
woman's  dark  eyes  had  both  thrilled  and  chilled  him. 
Women  so  definably  and  strikingly  handsome  are  sel- 
dom met  with ;  there  had  been  that  one,  and  now  there 
was  this  one,  and  Mary  Stingaree  of  Power  Lot,  God 
Help  Us,  had  by  all  odds,  he  reflected,  the  more  aristo- 
cratic beauty  and  manner  of  the  two. 

Rob  anticipated  her  every  need  at  table,  was  suave, 
eagerly  responsive  to  every  bright  word  or  look  of 
hers. 

"  He's  the  rotten  fool,"  thought  Bate. 

Mary's  manner  still  in  some  indefinable  way  pleased 
and  exhilarated  Rob  as  they  rose  from  the  table,  and 


AS    A    PUGILIST  129 

she  said  quietly,  the  least  ripple  of  a  smile  on  her 
mouth : 

"  Bate  tells  me,  Robert,  that  you  complained  about 
the  food." 

"  No,  not  that — it's  too  good  for  us,"  Rob  cried 
eagerly;  "  I  made  fun,  just  as  you  do  yourself  some- 
times, but  it  was  no  part  of  a  gentleman,  living  on  your 
place  and  on  Bate's,  to  talk  as  I  did;  I  wish  I  could 
take  it  back,  and  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Stingaree. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  Bate.  I  acted  like  a  cad." 

He  faced  Bate  outright,  with  an  honest  fullness  of 
apology  on  his  flushed,  shamed  countenance. 

"  Oh,  don't  try  ter  squeal  out  of  it  that  way,"  Bate 
replied.  "  I  expect  to  have  my  reckonin'  with  you,  yit, 
Daisy,"  and  he  turned  his  back  and  skulked  away  as 
usual. 

Mary  had,  somehow,  anticipated  or  expected  the 
apology  on  Rob's  part,  and  had  hoped  to  mend  matters 
between  the  two;  but  Mary  could  never  anticipate 
what  Bate  would  say  or  do.  He  was  a  constant  surprise 
to  her ;  and  she  blushed  now  even  more  shamefully 
than  Rob. 

"  Do  not  mind  him,"  she  said.  "  He  does  not  mean 
that." 

But  her  bosom  heaved,  her  nostrils  grew  thin,  and 
an  ominous  dark  streak  showed  in  the  crimson  of  her 
cheeks. 

"  There  are  three  tempers  in  this  house,"  thought 
Rob ;  "  mine,  and  Bate's,  and  Mary  Stingaree's." 

"  I  don't  mind,"  he  said.  "  I  deserved  a  cut.  Well, 
good-night,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  Miss  Stingaree.  I — I 
get  so  tired  I  can't  hold  my  head  up," 


130  POWER    LOT 

She  flashed  a  smile  at  him  more  than  kind;  it  was 
grateful  and  it  had  faith  in  him.  She  passed  into  the 
next  room  to  her  mother.  Rob  stood  a  moment  and 
a  strange  idea  dawned  upon  him.  Mary  seemed  still 
to  stand  before  him,  but  the  brilliance  and  force  of 
her,  which  usually  confused  him  when  in  her  presence, 
had  changed  now  to  only  that  womanly  heaving  of  the 
breast.  It  was  not  the  proud  face  or  the  disconcerting 
eyes  that  he  saw,  but  the  brown  shirt-waist,  rising  and 
falling  with  those  sweet  womanly  signals  of  emotion. 
That  neat  brown  working-waist  of  Mary's  had  a  heart 
under  it. 

Good  heavens,  what  a  heart  it  might  be!  What 
would  a  caress  mean  from  such  a  woman — from  her? 
Rob  caught  his  breath.  It  could  not  be;  but  his  very 
soul  followed  her  through  the  door  behind  which  she  had 
disappeared.  Oh,  to  dream  of  it — to  put  his  head  down 
upon  that  heaving  breast  as  worthy  to  give  and  to 
receive  comfort.  He  shook.  It  could  not  be.  But — 
and  here  it  was  that  poor  Rob's  lonely  and  longing 
soul  conceived  an  idea — he  could  wash  the  dishes  for 
her. 

He  knew  that  before  she  brought  out  her  mother's 
supper  tray  she  always  sat  for  a  while  with  her,  talk- 
ing confidentially  and  low,  soothing  and  comforting 
her.  The  table  was  not  cleared,  the  dishes,  of  course, 
not  washed.  He  had  often  heard  Mary  at  this  task, 
when  his  own  comfortable  head  was  sinking  off  into 
its  first  delicious  slumber  of  the  night. 

Now,  forthwith,  he  crept  about  the  room,  noiseless 
as  a  cat  and  deft  as  one  inspired ;  he  cleared  the  table, 
washed  the  dishes  and  set  them  away,  spread  the  old 


AS    A    PUGILIST  131 

red  table-cover  that  converted  the  kitchen  into  a  sit- 
ting-room, replaced  the  evening  lamp,  omitting  no 
detail,  and  was  in  his  own  room  upstairs  before  Mary 
appeared  on  the  scene. 

"  Virginia !  "  he  heard  her  calling  with  a  swelling 
heart  of  friendship  and  gratitude  from  the  house  door ; 
"  Virginia ! " 

Then  Rob  knew  that  Mary  had  concluded  at  once 
that  it  was  Mrs.  By  jo  who  had  crept  slyly  in  and  done 
her  this  favor. 

"  Come  in,  Virginia,"  called  the  now  laughing  and 
urgent  voice. 

"  She  won't  come,  Miss  Stingaree,"  muttered  Rob 
in  the  silence  of  his  heart.  "  I  don't  believe  she's  any- 
where about.  Oh,  the  deuce ! "  he  added  to  himself ; 
"  I  kind  o'  wanted  her  to  know  I  did  it.  'Twould  'a' 
been  fun.  But  she'll  never  know;  she'll  lay  it  to  By  jo, 
and  forget  it.  I  get  work  enough  to  do,  all  right; 
but  somehow  I  miss  all  the  bouquets.  Well,  never  mind 
— she  didn't  have  to  do  'em,  anyway;  and  probably 
she'd  been  mad  at  me  if  she'd  known  who  it  was." 

Rob  did  not  read  in  his  room ;  his  business  there  was 
emphatically  sleeping ;  insomnia  had  become  the  vague 
reminiscence  of  some  fever  in  a  past  world.  If  he  could 
keep  awake  until  he  turned  respectably  into  bed  he 
was  only  too  happy.  Magazines  and  novels  he  cared 
little  for ;  and  the  daily  newspapers  he  could  not  have. 
Occasionally  he  flapped  the  Bible  open,  to  light,  per- 
chance, upon  some  startling  expression,  and  also  be- 
c.-iuse  he  was  very  lonely  and  it  was  connected  with  the 
tender  sentimental  era  of  black  velvet  and  golden  curls 
and  pony  whip. 


132  POWER    LOT 

His  eyes  full  of  the  sticks  of  swift  oncoming  slum- 
ber, he  flapped  it  open  to-night. 

"  If  after  the  manner  of  men  I  have  fought  with 
beasts  at  Ephesus " 

Rob  rend  no  farther;  it  was  a  grand  phrase,  and 
he  clung  to  it.  Some  old  Bible  fellow  evidently  had 
put  himself  in  training  for  a  fighter,  and  this  was 
the  fine  way  he  told  about  it  afterwards,  casually, 
without  brag  or  fuss.  "  If  after  the  manner  of  men 
I  have  fought  with  beasts " 

A  good,  cool  fighter  he  must  have  been. 

Rob  had  got  up  above  a  complete  absorption  in  the 
eating,  drinking,  and  reveling  phase  of  existence,  to 
a  realization  of  a  stout  desire  to  make  a  fight.  What 
to  fight,  and  what  to  fight  for,  were  buoyantly  hazy 
in  his  calculations.  The  fellow  in  the  Bible,  of  course, 
had  fought  for  religion ;  he  could  not  do  that,  but  all 
the  same  he  meant  to  make  a  superb  showing  and  a 
tremendous  slaughter  among  the  "  beasts  at  Ephesus." 


CHAPTER    IX 

AN  EGG  FOR  A  STAMP 

ALAS  for  the  tawny-haired  hero  of  the  ring!  With 
the  morning  light  the  thrill  of  the  combat  and  the 
glory  of  the  amphitheater  had  dwindled  down  to  a 
smarting  consciousness  of  a  bruised  body;  down  to 
a  sordid  summons  to  arise  and  toil,  conveyed  through 
the  cackling  of  geese  and  the  bleating  of  calves ;  down, 
in  fact,  to  ax  and  saw,  and  spade  and  hoe,  and  other 
things  that  are  but  dull  accompaniments  to  the  picture 
of  an  aspiring  champion. 

Mary  was  afraid  to  embitter  Bate,  and  do  Rob  actual 
harm  in  consequence,  by  engaging  in  any  lively  tone 
of  pleasantry  or  showing  even  a  frankly  natural  po- 
liteness to  their  guest;  so  the  same  studied  courtesy 
as  usual  prevailed  between  her  and  Rob  at  the  break- 
fast table. 

"Did  Mrs.  By  jo — I  mean,  Stafford — call  last  even- 
ing? "  Rob  inquired  cursorily,  with  great  lightness  and 
cheerfulness  of  manner. 

"  Yes,"  Mary  laughed ;  "  she  came  in  a  mysterious 
way  the  dishes  to  perform.  When  I  came  out  from 
Mother's  room  everything  had  been  done  for  me;  and 
it  is  not  the  first  time,"  she  added,  "that  Virginia 
has  done  me  so  kind  a  turn." 

"  She's  a  brick,"  said  Rob  heartily. 

Bate  sniffed.    The  world  seemed  ever  to  be.  drawing 

133 


134  TOWER    LOT 

upon  the  well  of  Marah  within  him,  and  he,  most 
uncannily,  seemed  always  to  know  what  was  going  on 
in  all  the  small  affairs  of  life. 

"  Byjo  never  done  your  dishes  last  night,"  he  de- 
clared. 

"  Who,  then  ?  "  said  Mary,  regarding  him  hopefully  ; 
"  did  you,  Bate?  " 

"Me?    No." 

"Well,  then— who?" 

"  The  prize-fighter,  thar' ;  and  I  wouldn't  thank 
him  for  his  imperdence,  either." 

Mary  blushed.  Rob  reveled  in  her  look ;  but  at  that 
point  he  lost  her.  He  did  not  follow  her  purpose  to 
shield  and  save  him,  but  saw  only  the  cool  and  quiet 
smile  which  hovered  about  her  lips. 

"  Ah,  now  I  understand,"  she  said, — "  though  it  must 
seem  ungrateful, — the  great  rim  of  grease  left  around 
the  inside  of  the  dishpan." 

Bate  cast  so  sharp  and  triumphant  a  glance  of  warn- 
ing at  him  that  Rob  almost  felt  in  washing  the  dishes, 
though  he  could  still  vividly  recall  the  impulses  of 
hopeless  love  and  holy  kindness  which  had  abounded 
in  him  at  the  time,  that  he  had  given  serious  ground 
for  offense.  There  are  rites  of  conduct  for  human 
observation  in  Power  Lot,  as  elsewhere,  and  possibly 
he  had  arrogated  to  himself  too  much  of  the  privilege 
of  the  domestic  and  familiar.  Anyway,  Bate  had  ex- 
posed him,  and  brought  contempt  upon  him ;  and  now 
he  did  not  leave  the  table  as  usual,  but  sat  regarding 
Mary  and  Rob  in  an  insultingly  watchful  manner. 

Rob  excused  himself,  and  sighed  deeply  as  he  stepped 
outside  the  door.  His  clothes  on  the  line!  Alas,  for 


AN    EGG    FOR    A    STAMP  135 

the  strain  and  rigor  of  immortal  combat — it  had  fallen 
to  this;  Rob  must  take  down  his  own  clothes.  And, 
that  Bate,  watching  from  some  source,  would  devour 
with  delight  this  savory  morsel  of  his  discomfiture,  he 
felt  sure. 

Rob  filled  his  pipe — he  had  only  one  drawing  of 
molasses-and-ginger  tobacco  left,  by  the  way — saun- 
tered up  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  attacked 
the  line.  But  how  white  they  were!  Water  and  the 
stern  drubbing  of  the  board,  and  the  winds  of  ad- 
versity which  had  blown  all  night  upon  them,  had  made 
them  how  wondrous  sweet.  Rob  condescended  to  take 
a  little  pride  in  them  at  last,  in  his  own  heart ;  outwardly 
his  ears  were  suffused  with  blushes  as  he  folded  them  on 
the  grass  preparatory  to  carrying  them  in  and  packing 
them  away. 

Hereafter,  a  flannel  shirt  or  two,  with  a  few  ad- 
juncts by  way  of  handkerchiefs  and  stockings,  would 
represent  his  labors  at  the  washtub  and  his  soldiery 
of  the  line. 

He  wanted  very  much  to  have  a  little  interview  with 
Mary;  in  the  first  place  for  the  sake  of  the  painful 
and  pleasurable  excitement  of  being  near  her,  and  in 
the  second  place  because  his  finances  had  reached  an 
ebb — as  witness  the  one  pipe-drawing  of  tobacco  re- 
maining to  him — where  it  was  imperatively  necessary 
for  him  to  propound  a  frank  business  proposition  to 
her.  Just  as  he  was  making  his  return  passage  through 
the  kitchen  having  put  away  his  linen,  Bate  suddenly 
appeared  with  an  affected  preoccupation  of  haste  and 
began  fumbling  among  the  bric-a-brac  on  the  kitchen 
shelf  in  search  of  something,  no  one  knew  what. 


136  POWER    LOT 

Rob,  disregarding  his  presence,  stood  in  the  center 
of  the  floor,  and  spoke  with  dignity  and  self-possession : 

"  Miss  Stingaree,  do  you  mind  my  getting  you  a  mess 
of  clams,  instead  of  your  hiring  Joey  Belcher  to  do  it?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  not,  Robert ;  but  don't  you  need 
the  time  for  your  own  work?  " 

"  I  will  explain,"  said  Robert,  the  flower  of  his 
courtliest  drawing-room  grace  shining  full  upon  him ; 
"  I  have  written  to  New  York  for  funds,  but  Captain 
James  Turbine's  boat  is  not  yet  in  with  the  mails,  and 
my  present  financial  condition,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
Miss  Stingaree,  is  one  of  absolute  penury;  in  fact,  if 
penury  means  anything  like  penny,  I  haven't  even  that. 
I  vow  to  you  it  would  give  me  the  proudest  pleasure 
to  dig  the  clams  for  you  for  nothing ;  and  if  you  will 
permit  me  to  have  that  pleasure  I  will  regard  the 
ten  cents,  which  you  usually  pay  Joey  Belcher  for 
digging  a  peck,  as  only  a  temporary  loan,  and  shall 
feel  grateful  and  very  honored  to  reimburse  you  when 
I  receive  my  funds." 

Bate,  from  an  expression  of  dumb  wonderment, 
chuckled,  as  he  renewed  his  frantic  pawing  over  the 
kitchen  shelf. 

"  He's  out  o'  tobackker." 

Between  the  two  of  them  Mary  was  hard  put  to  it 
to  keep  her  countenance.  She  knew  that  no  funds  would 
be  forthcoming  to  Rob  from  New  York ;  it  was  in  the 
strict  letter  of  the  physician's  bond  that  Rob  should 
be  brought  face  to  face  with  the  utter  realities  of  life, 
and  either  prove  his  crass  weakness  or  struggle  up  and 
stand  on  his  own  feet,  morally  erect. 

It  seemed  hard  to  her.    He  was  so  good-natured.    It 


AN   EGG    FOR    A    STAMP  137 

had  touched  her  in  a  way  that  he  did  not  dream  of — 
his  washing  the  dishes  for  her.  Bate  made  her  friendly 
relations  with  her  big  ward  more  difficult  still  through 
his  insane  jealousy  and  moodiness.  But  Rob's  present 
elegance  of  manner  cast  a  glamour  over  all  things,  made 
them  appear  hopeful,  even  joyful.  It  was  not  so  sure 
but  that,  in  some  sense,  in  place  of  her  bewitching  him 
he  was  bewitching  her,  her  life-training  had  been  so 
practical  and  severe,  and  he  was,  at  present  at  least, 
even  with  his  appeal  for  money,  the  very  soul  of  chival- 
rous romance. 

Mary  could  not  help  smiling  when  he  brought  his 
request  to  a  peroration. 

"  Very  well,"  she  answered ;  "  we  will  not  consider  it 
as  a  loan,  but  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  pay  you  ten  cents 
if  you  will  dig  some  clams." 

Rob  bowed.  He  had  devoutly  hoped  that  she  would 
understand  and  offer  payment  in  advance;  then  he 
could  stop  at  the  River  on  his  way  back  from  the  flats 
and  purchase  some  tobacco ;  it  would  save  him  another 
long  trip  up  and  down  the  hill.  To  do  Mary  justice, 
she  did  not  fully  diagnose  his  predicament.  He  said 
nothing  more.  Ceaseless  physical  exertion  was  becom- 
ing second  nature  to  him,  and  he  had  observed  that 
the  strange  mechanism  of  his  body,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments of  quiet,  if  strenuously  put  to  labor  and  plenti- 
fully bedewed  with  sweat,  limbered  up  again  to  the 
tune  of  untiring  action.  Occasionally  he  reflected  in 
blank  astonishment  on  his  health  and  vigor,  and  still 
the  latent  purpose  of  his  untrained  pleasure-loving 
nature  was  to  go  rollicking  back  to  New  York  as  soon 
as  opportunity  offered,  and  expend  his  accrued  treas- 


188  POWER    LOT 

ures  of  deep-breathing  lungs  and  toughening  muscles, 
in  having  a  tremendously,  a  superlatively,  "  good 
time." 

And  now  he  took  up  clam-rake  and  basket,  descended 
by  the  steep  road,  which  was  shorter  and  had  ceased, 
some  time  ago,  to  thrill  him  with  affright;  walked 
sturdily  to  the  flats,  dug  up  the  clams,  tramped  back  and 
delivered  his  spoils  to  Mary,  and  received  his  ten  cents. 
Mrs.  By  jo  was  with  her,  and  hilariously,  with  an  air 
of  good  fellowship,  as  he  retreated  threw  several  bad 
clams  after  him  as  a  reminder  to  be  more  particular 
in  future  in  his  selection  of  those  bivalves. 

So  homesick  for  company  was  Rob,  it  seemed  nice 
even  to  have  things  thrown  at  him,  and  at  a  safe 
distance,  he  tossed  a  loud,  though  expressly  tender,  kiss 
back  at  Virginia,  and  proceeded  cheerfully  on  his  way 
down  the  hill  again. 

At  the  River  store  he  purchased  his  usual  ten-cent 
plug  of  tobacco  and  filled  his  pipe,  standing  outside 
in  the  center  of  activity  created  by  a  confused  street 
scene  consisting  of  one  yoke  of  oxen  and  two  men, 
and — yes,  that  was  Cuby  coming.  Cuby  knew  the 
proprieties  and  the  tenets  of  choice  society ;  she  did 
not  look  at  Rob  as  she  stepped  lightly  past,  her  head 
well  up,  and  her  look  communicating  with  the  far  edge 
of  the  horizon. 

Rob  flattered  himself  with  the  happy  thought  that 
she  expected  him  to  follow.  There  at  least,  he  felt, 
as  he  watched  her  trim,  smart  figure  disappearing,  was 
something  tangibly  human  to  get  hold  of,  and  he  was 
lonely  beyond  utterance  for  genial  companionship. 

"  You  do  loaf,"  she  suddenly  admonished  him  with 


AN    EGG    FOR    A    STAMP  139 

motherly  displeasure,  when  his  footsteps  pounded  too 
plainly  at  her  side  to  be  ignored  any  longer.  "  You 
work  not,  you  make  to  loaf  by  the  store." 

"  Now  see  here,  Cuby,  I  don't  loaf.  It  just  hap- 
pened. I  haven't  stopped  to  breathe  before  in  a  dog's 
age." 

Rob  puffed  at  his  pipe  choicely,  cautiously;  even 
this  despised  quality  of  the  weed  had  grown  to  be  of 
precious  savor  to  him. 

"Just  look,"  he  continued,  "at  what  I've  been  through 
with  to  get  a  plug  of  this  nasty  tobacco.  Twice  up 
and  down  that  eternal  hill  to  earn  ten  cents  for  such 
a  luxury  as  this.  Me — I — that  they  used  to  call  *  the 
Hilton  heir '  at  home.  Say,  this  is  a  great  world,  Cuby, 
and  has  got  lots  of  entertaining  stuff  in  it.  I  mean 
to  make  other  folks  laugh  out  of  the  wrong  sides  of 
their  mouth,  sometime.  Ha !  ha !  Ho  !  ho  !  " 

Do  his  best,  Rob  could  not  muster  up  a  malicious 
laugh.  It  might  have  been  the  wealth  of  ozone  in  the 
atmosphere,  but  his  wild  cachinnation  had  a  distinctly 
joyous  tone. 

"  My  father  says,"  replied  Cuby  significantly,  "  I 
shall  never  marry  any  man  w'at  is  lezzy." 

"  Quite  right.  For  that  very  reason  you'd  be  mighty 
lucky  if  you  could  catch  me.  I'm  the  goods,  all  right. 
Sweat !  Don't  say  a  word.  All  the  arrears  on  my 
board  bill  paid  up!  Square  with  the  world!  The 
Stingaree  potatoes  are  ahead  of  mine,  so  I  put  in  extra 
time  at  the  usual  wages,  helping  hoe  them.  I  haven't 
ironed  yet,  but  I've  done  a  big  washing.  Sawin'  wood, 
choppin'  wood,  diggin',  hoein',  clammin' — and,  say, 
I've  laid  Bate  flat." 


140  POWER    LOT 

This  revelation  was  unwise,  and  it  had  occurred  to 
Rob  as  only  a  remarkable  item  among  his  various  toils. 

Cuby's  manner  changed. 

"  No.  You  have  lick*  Bate?  You  have?  "  she  cried 
eagerly. 

Rob  expanded  with  the  momentum  of  her  excitement 
and  asserted  furthermore  with  reckless  high-minded- 
ness: 

"Ask  Miss  Stingaree;  ask  Captain  By  jo — she  saw 
him  on  the  ground,  and  me  over  him  telling  him  to  beg 
for  mercy." 

"  Oh,  Rob ! "  Cuby  sighed  an  ecstatic  long  breath 
and  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  her  brown  eyes 
looked  into  his. 

Rob  was  electrified,  and  he  felt  of  a  size  that  matched, 
not  unfavorably,  with  the  surrounding  mountains. 
Ozone  is  as  treacherous  as  whisky  to  the  blood  of  any 
gay  reveler  who  has  not  learned  how  to  hold  himself 
in  hand. 

"  If  it  is  hones'  an'  true  that  you  have  lick'  Bate," 
said  Cuby  solemnly,  "  then  they  shall  not  any  more 
call  you  *  Daisy,'  no.  And  my  father,  he  will  show 
you  to  box  with  the  gloves.  He  has  it  well  learn'.  He 
shall  make  a  laugh  at  them,  an*  show  you." 

"  Will  he?  "  cried  Rob,  his  hands  twitching  to  begin 
lessons. 

"  Sure.  Yes.  But,  Rober',  you  make  yourself  fool- 
ish to  work  so  har-r-rd  for  so  little  of  pay.  Why  do 
you  not  meTc  them  that  is  rich  off  you,  send  you  the 
money?  Why  not?  " 

"That  is  just  where  your  dear  little  head  is  level, 
my  sweet  girl.  But  don't  you  see  they've  got  me  in 


AN    EGG    FOR    A    STAMP  141 

a  trap.  I  couldn't  buy  a  foot  of  standing  room,  even 
on  one  of  those  old  rotten  wood-packets ;  and  they're 
so  connivin'  mean  together — and  I  believe  Cap'n  Jim 
Turbine's  at  the  bottom  of  it — they  wouldn't  sell  me 
a  berth,  even  if  I  had  the  money.  Besides,  they  never 
sail,  anyway,  and  the  vessels  that  do  come  in  sneak 
in  and  out  like  thieves.  Don't  you  see  where  I  am? 
I'm  going  to  put  it  in  the  geography :  What  is  Robert 
Hilton?  (Answer)  He's  a  poor  cuss  surrounded  by 
water." 

Cuby  laughed.  There  was  no  question  but  that  Rob 
was  growing  witty  as  well  as  valiant.  She  laughed  so 
admiringly  that  Rob,  reflecting  a  bit  on  his  own  bril- 
liancy, followed  suit: 

"Ho!  ho!     Ha!  ha!" 

"  Yes.  Me — I  remember,"  gurgled  Cuby  through 
her  merriment ;  "  I  mek  study  of  the  geography  at  the 
Baptis'  school.  But  now  there  is  come  a  new  par-r-rt 
to  it:  *  What  is  Rober'  Hilton?  '  The  pupils  make  to 
answer :  '  He  is  one  poor  cuss  all  surround'  with  water.' 
Yes." 

Then  her  face  grew  very  serious. 

"  You  shall  not  go  away.  My  father  will  kill  you 
if  you  go  away.  You  make  promise  to  me  we  are  en- 
gage' to  each  other.  If  you  go  away — though  I  said 
not  much  that  I  love  you,  they  make  such  a  laugh  at 
me — you  shall  take  me  with  you.  That  is  sure.  Yes. 
No,  you  shall  not  go.  But  write  them  the  letters.  See? 
Make  the  big  thr-r-reat  at  them.  Scar-r-re  them." 

The  asperity  of  Cuby's  lovely  glowing  face  was 
enough  to  send  fits  of  dismay  through  any  corporate 
body  of  malefactors. 


142  POWER    LOT 

Rob's  heart  sank  a  bit  at  the  information  that  he 
was  indissolubly  bound  to  Cuby;  not  but  that  she 
was  perfectly  entrancing,  but  the  marriage  tie  seemed 
a  knotty  problem  altogether  out  of  his  province  at 
present.  With  an  embarrassed  laugh  he  relegated  it 
to  either  the  dark  forward  or  backward  abysms  of  time, 
just  wherever  it  might  happen  to  light,  making  only 
the  mental  reservation  that  he  would  be  rather  more 
careful  hereafter  in  his  attitude  toward  the  smart,  tem- 
pestuous little  maiden  at  his  side. 

"Letters,  Cuby,"  he  declared  gravely;  "why,  I've 
written  letters  enough,  but  I  never  get  any  answer.  I 
know  this  about  Captain  Jim  Turbine — mean  as  he  is, 
he's  honest.  He  would  bring  my  letters  over  from 
Waldeck  if  any  came.  No,  they  won't  answer  me; 
however,  I've  got  a  missive  here  in  my  pocket  that  I've 
been  carrying  about  with  me,  that  I'm  going  to  send 
first  boat.  I  reckon  it  '11  make  'em  sit  up.  It's  a  hair- 
raiser." 

So  prominently  did  this  intention  now  absorb  Rob's 
mind,  he  sought  me  out  as  soon  as  his  stroll  with  Cuby 
was  over. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  give  me  a  sail  over  to 
Waldeck,  Captain  Turbine?  "  he  inquired,  his  broad 
smile  indicating  that  he  would  esteem  it  over  every 
earthly  privilege  to  become  my  bosom  friend. 

There  are  some  people  you  yearn  over.  They  may 
be  vain  or  silly,  or  worse;  but  there's  some  quality 
about  them  makes  you  yearn  over  them.  So  my  old  fool 
of  a  heart  yearned  over  that  sad  boy ;  but  I  was  under 
rules  along  with  Mary  and  the  doctor. 

"Well,  that's  kind  o'  difficult  to  say,  Mr.  Hilton," 


AN   EGG    FOR    A    STAMP  143 

I  answered ;  "  wind  and  tide,  and  all  that,  have  so 
much  to  do  with  it,  you  know." 

"  Wind  and  tide  don't  faze  you.  I  wish  you'd  call 
me  *  Rob,'  Captain.  Why,  now,  I  wonder,  won't  you 
sail  me  over,  Jim?  Are  you  afraid  I  won't  pay  you?  " 

"  No,  oh  no,  Rob ;  but  I  sail  under  quick  orders 
when  I  do  go." 

"  '  Orders,  — why,  you  own  your  own  vessel  and  are 
master  of  it." 

"  Well," — I  had  to  smile, — "  I  make  strict  orders  on 
myself,  all  the  same.  I'm  awful  careful,  Rob,  to  obey 
my  own  orders." 

"Pshaw.     You  can  do  what  you  like." 

"  Maybe,  then,  it's  because  I'm  so  old  and  rough  and 
used  to  it,  but  I  like  it  better  to  be  under  orders." 

"  You  lose  all  the  fun,"  said  Rob,  a  little  impatiently. 

"  Not  a  bit.  I've  been  through  seas,  and  sheered  off 
rocks,  that  'ud  call  a  circus  tame,  and  put  a  picnic 
nowhere." 

"  Oh,  I  know  you're  a  fast  sailor,  Jim ;  and,  say,"  he 
added,  in  a  confidential  tone,  wheedling  sweetly,  "  you 
are  not  old,  you're  hardly  in  your  prime.  Now  look  here, 
Captain,  you  sail  some  of  the  other  boys  over,  now  and 
then — why  won't  you  take  me?  I'd  lay  around  shore 
waiting  to  take  my  chances.  I'd  lay  around  all  night 
and  all  day,  and  a  week,  if  I  could  get  the  chance  to  go 
when  you  do  sail."  He  was  wide  awake  on  his  subject; 
he  had  infused  a  wild  pathetic  tremor  into  his  voice. 
It  was  hard ;  it  was  harder  on  me  than  on  him. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  turning  my  head  away,  "  when  the 
right  time  comes  that  I  can  take  ye,  I'll  let  ye  know, 
Rob." 


144  POWER    LOT 

"  Thanks,"  he  sighed  heavily,  walked  away  a  rod  or 
so,  then  returned  with  a  great  air  of  having  been 
reminded  of  something: 

"  By  the  way — this  letter,  Captain ;  do  you  mind 
posting  it  for  me,  the  next  time  you  sail  over?  " 

I  knew  the  letter  would  not  make  any  difference  with 
the  way  he  was  being  treated  by  that  old  doctor  in  New 
York,  and  I  knew  that  no  money  would  be  sent  to  him 
right  away  to  leave  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us.  I  had 
not  the  least  objections  to  taking  the  letter,  and  I 
longed  to  do  it  without  a  word  more.  There  was  no 
postage  stamp  on  it.  It  seemed  an  infinitesimal  small 
thing,  and  worse  for  Rob's  nature  to  think  people  could 
be  so  mean.  But  rules  are  rules,  and  especially  promises 
• — even  as  to  a  penny — are  promises.  Poor  Mary  had 
been  bound  to  it  sacredly,  "  even  a  penny  "  having  been 
mentioned  in  particular,  and  I  ought  to  be  up  to  her 
endurance;  besides,  my  promise  had  been  made  through 
her.  That  settled  it.  It  should  stand.  So  I  steeled 
myself  up  to  the  business. 

"  Where's  the  little  picture  of  some  imperial  sovereign 
or  other,  that  belongs  in  the  corner  of  it?  "  I  said. 

What  a  look  those  blue  eyes  gave  me.  I  think  he  saw 
through  me,  and  I  think  he  pitied  me  and  believed  in  me, 
though  he  did  not  know  what  for  nor  why. 

He  dived  into  his  pockets  with  an  artificially  off-hand 
and  impetuous  manner. 

"Thunder,"  said  he,  "I've  left  all  my  change  at 
home." 

I  had  become  absorbed,  apparently,  in  some  tinkering 
I  was  doing  on  my  boat,  and  to  confirm  my  mental 
ness  from  the  dilemma  in  hand  I  had  begun  to  whistle. 


AN    EGG    FOR    A    STAMP  145 

"  Look  here,  Jim,"  he  grinned,  "  I've  been  ass  enough 
to  leave  all  my  change  up  at  the  house." 

His  air  of  bravado  was  transparent ;  my  manner  of 
indifference  was  as  loudly  transparent.  I  made  no  reply. 

"  Good  Lord,"  he  blurted  out,  "  if  I  had  a  hundred 
dollars  right  here,  I'd  give  it  to  you,  Jim,  for  the 
asking." 

"  I  know  you  would,  Rob,"  said  I.  "  I  know  that 
right  well."  Again  his  impatient  glance  changed  to  a 
frank  and  unfathomable  pity. 

"  Say,  old  man,  money's  kind  o'  scarce  around  here, 
ain't  it  ?  Well,  I'm  going  to  attend  to  this  little  matter, 
right  now." 

He  went  back  up  the  hill  (at  a  very  different  gait 
from  that  he  had  exhibited  on  his  first  arrival  at  Power 
Lot,  God  Help  Us)  ;  and  how  he  should  get  the  penny 
for  a  stamp  he  did  not  know,  but  it  seemed  incredible  to 
him  that  Fate  should  face  him  out  with  denial  and  dis- 
aster in  so  small  an  enterprise. 

Just  then  he  heard  the  fruitful  cackling  of  a  hen, 
and  lo,  escape  from  the  clutch  of  impecuniosity  lay  open 
before  him,  though  it  led  through  the  clandestine  and 
abhorrent  paths  of  theft.  Rob  darted  in  at  the  rear 
door  of  the  shed,  and  looked  over  into  the  hen's  nest 
nearest  at  hand. 

There  lay  four  eggs  in  an  enticing  cluster,  and,  at 
present  prices,  one  of  them  would  buy  a  stamp.  Into 
Rob's  pocket  went  an  egg,  and  down  he  came  to  me,  hold- 
ing out  letter  and  egg,  his  mouth  as  wide  abeam  with 
laughter  as  though  Sin  had  not  claimed  him  for  her  own. 

"  I  swiped  it,  Jim,  'pon  my  honor.  Say,  Lord  Harry 
— look  where  I've  got — I've  stolen  an  egg." 


146  POWER    LOT 

The  look  of  it,  indeed.  A  man  of  his  majesty  of  size 
and  classic  beauty  of  feature  shaking  that  purloined 
egg  in  wicked  and  hilarious  triumph  before  my  very 
eyes.  I  laughed  till  my  sides  ached.  His  moral  restitu- 
tion would  not  be  reached  through  me.  I  had  failed, 
myself,  in  this  bout  with  the  ordained  ethics  of  the  law ; 
the  ludicrous  side  of  the  thing  had  done  me  up. 

"  Now,  will  you  post  my  letter  ?  " 

"  Sure.  Hand  her  over.  I'm  not  sure  but  I'll  make 
a  special  trip." 

"  Oh,  say — take  me  along." 

"  Likely.  Sailing  over  to  Waldeck  with  a  henroost 
thief.  Not  much."  But  the  tears  of  helpless  laughter 
still  swam  in  my  eyes. 

"  Go  alone,  then,  you  old  weepin'-willow,  and  be  hung 
to  you,"  said  Rob ;  but  there  was  honest  love  as  well  as 
wild  gayety  in  his  tone.  A  joke  has,  sometimes,  a  sort 
of  strange  saving  power  over  folks. 

He  lifted  his  hat  ceremoniously  from  the  crisp  hand- 
some waves  of  his  hair : 

"  Good-day,  Captain  Turbine.  By  God," — he  turned 
on  me  once  more,  warningly,  and  his  eyes  flashed, — "  I'll 
sail  with  you  yet,  Jim." 

My  cap  went  off.  "  Good-day,  Brother  Bob,  and  it 
will  be  a  glad  day  for  me  when  you  sail  with  me." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  PASSAGE  THROUGH 

ROB,  in  his  mad  haste,  had  not  discovered  that  Miss 
Stingaree  was  sitting,  slightly  shadowed  by  a  pile  of 
material  objects,  in  a  corner  of  the  shed,  peeling  rhu- 
barb, when  he  thrust  his  predatory  hand  into  the  hen's 
nest. 

As  he  returned  this  third  time  from  the  shore,  suck- 
ing parsimoniously  at  his  pipe,  Mary  saw  him  through 
the  house  windows ;  tall,  erect,  brown,  so  that  the  wav- 
ing fair  hair,  growing  tawnier  every  day  through 
exposure  to  the  wind  and  sun,  looked  stirringly  pic- 
turesque beside  the  deepening  tan  of  his  countenance — 
as  she  saw  this  goodly  spectacle,  and  then  reflected  on  the 
stolen  hen's  egg,  her  heart  revolted  that  so  comely  an 
exterior  should  contain  a  soul  of  such  mean  dimensions. 

Rob  unconsciously  mended  his  case  at  once,  as,  seeing 
her  within,  he  entered  hat  in  hand  frankly  smiling: 

"  Miss  Stingaree,  you  harbor  a  thief — a  petty  thief. 
I  abstracted  an  egg  from  old  '  Ginger's '  nest  and 
applied  it  to  my  own  private  necessities." 

She  smiled  back  at  him  with  a  happy  revulsion  of 
feeling,  and  her  rare  laugh  encircled  him  with  a  sense  of 
bliss. 

"  Were  you  hungry,  Robert  ?  Where  did  you  go  to 
boil  it?" 

"  Oh,  it  wasn't  quite  so  groveling  as  that,  Miss  Stin- 
147 


148  POWER    LOT 

garee.  I  gave  it  to  Captain  Turbine  to  be  converted 
into  a  postage  stamp.  Ho !  ho !  Ha !  ha !  " 

"  So  you  still  want  to  get  away  from  us?  "  she  said, 
and  her  lip  drew  a  little  as  if  with  mortification  and 
pain.  "  I  cannot  blame  you,  but  I  hoped  you  would  not 
mind  it  to  stay  awhile." 

What  he  had  written  in  his  letter,  of  the  sordid  and 
poverty-stricken  conditions  of  Power  Lot,  of  disrepu- 
table Bate,  of  outlandish  Mrs.  By  jo,  even  of  Mary's 
coldness  and  pride  (instead  of  lauding  her  hard-work- 
ing, faithful  performance  of  duty) — and  the  disagree- 
able way  in  which  he  had  written  it — it  all  surged  back 
upon  him  now,  as  if  he  had  lifted  his  hand  to  strike  the 
beautiful  woman  before  him  a  cruel  and  brutal  blow. 

"Well,"  blushed  Rob,  "I  feel  that  I'm  an  awful 
burden,  don't  you  know,  that's  a  fact;  and  I  feel 
besides  that  there  is  tremendously  urgent  business  of 
my  own  back  in  the  States,  that  I  ought  to  attend  to." 

As  Mary  looked  at  him  this  statement  did  not  seem 
farcical,  as  it  certainly  would  have  appeared  when  he 
first  arrived  at  Power  Lot.  His  powers  of  recuperation 
seemed  nothing  less  than  inspired;  and  she  made  up 
her  mind  that  she  would  herself  write,  recommending 
his  release  from  her  low  roof  and  mean  fare — and  from 
Bate. 

"  Perhaps  you  ought  to  go,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Stingaree,  will  you  write  and  advise  them  ? 
It's  scandalous,  their  keeping  me  here." 

"  Yes,  I  will  write." 

"  It  isn't  because  I  want  to  leave  you,"  said  Bob ; 
"  but — but  perhaps  it  would  be  wisest  on  that  account, 
too.  For  I — I  think  you're  grand,  you  know ;  and  I 


THE    PASSAGE    THROUGH  149 

might  get  to  liking  you  more — more  " — he  did  not  look 
at  her — "  more  than  you  would  wish  to  have  me  like 
you." 

"  Your  affections  are  so  broadly  scattered  about, 
Robert,"  said  Mary  quietly  and  kindly,  "  that  I  should 
feel  very  sorry  if  I  did  not  come  in  for  some  share  of 
them." 

"  You  mean  Cuby  Tee-bo,"  he  blurted  out.  "  A  man 
can't  live  without  any  society,  and  she's  an  amusing 
little  girl,  that's  all." 

Mary  flashed  a  look  at  him;  it  was  evident  that  her 
liking  for  him  was  limited  and  under  strict  control. 

"  I've  never  been  a  saint,  you  know,"  Bob  defended 
himself.  "  I'd  try  to  be — I'd  try  for  anything,  if  you'd 
stand  by  me  and  encourage  me." 

"  If  you  mean  that  you  would  like  to  have  me  respect 
you,"  she  replied,  "  honestly,  I  should  not  be  able  to  do 
that  until  you  could  stand  by  yourself." 

"Don't  you  think  that's  kind  o'  lonesome?"  said 
Rob,  pale,  and  gazing  afar  through  the  window. 

"  Try  it,  and  see,"  she  answered.  Rob  thought  her 
tone  implied  that  there  might  be  unguessed  spiritual 
rewards  in  the  stalwart  attitude  she  had  recommended ; 
but  the  prospect  was  hazy  to  him,  and  especially  unat- 
tractive. His  face  was  dreary. 

"  Well,  I  must  go  to  work,"  he  sighed.  "  One  thing," 
he  added,  in  a  hopeful  and  un resentful  tone,  "  when  I 
get  hold  of  a  few  pennies  again,  I'll  hug  'em  up  and 
kiss  'em  a  while,  an'  get  kind  o'  used  to  the  looks  of  'em, 
before  I  spend  'em — that's  sure.  I  never  sailed  so  close 
to  the  wind  before,  and  it's  awful." 

His  mouth  trembled   a  little,  but  not  weakly.     He 


150  POWER    LOT 

looked  Mary  straight  in  the  face  without  appeal  or 
reproach ;  only  with  a  sort  of  resigned  adoration. 

"  Well,"  he  repeated  sadly,  "  I  must  be  off  to  work." 

"Mrs.  Stafford  says  she  would  be  very  glad  to  hire 
you  to  assist  some  with  her  hoeing.  You  could  put  in 
a  little  time  there,  perhaps,  before  your  own  potatoes  are 
ready." 

"  If  I  help  Bate  four  hours  this  afternoon,  I  shall  be 
two  days  ahead  on  my  board,  shan't  I,  Miss  Stingaree?  " 

"  Yes."  Mary  was  secretly  delighted,  the  question 
showed  such  close  mental  application  and  correct  figur- 
ing on  Rob's  part. 

"  Then,  to-morrow  morning,"  he  went  on,  "  I  can  get 
another  lap  ahead  on  my  board,  and  in  the  afternoon 
I'll  help  Captain  Byjo — I  mean  Mrs.  Stafford;  and  she 
will  pay  me  the  same  you  do? — only  she  will  pay  me  in 
cash,  of  course?  " 

"  You  can  depend  upon  her  to  do  so." 

"  Miss  Stingaree,"  said  Bob  ingratiatingly,  with  a 
little  catch  in  his  throat,  "  I'm  a  *  hired  man ' ;  that's 
the  size  of  it." 

"  You  can  make  it  any  size  you  like,"  observed  Mary. 
She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  added  distinctly,  "  I  do 
not  know  of  anyone  with  greater  opportunities,  for  you 
have  not  only  the  power  to  build  a  strong  character  now, 
but  to  do  it  in  spite  of,  and  over,  an — unfortunate  past, 
which  is  harder,  and  greater;  and  if  you  remained  a 
*  hired  man  '  through  the  whole  business,  that  would  not 
make  any  difference." 

Rob  again  asserted  simply  that  the  world  looked 
rather  lonely ;  again  he  withdrew  his  sad  gaze,  and 
remarked  in  a  stupefied  sort  of  way  without  rancor: 


THE    PASSAGE    THROUGH  151 

"  When  I've  earned  the  penny  that  I  owe  you  for 
old  Ginger's  egg,  of  course  I  will  pay  it  back  to 
you." 

"  Well,"  said  Mary.  Her  smile  drew  him ;  he  found 
himself  looking  straight  into  her  eyes  again,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  smile,  or  through  it,  they  seemed  to  him 
to  be  very  grave  and  kind  and  beautiful.  "  I  do  not 
think,"  she  said,  "  that  I  am  at  heart  petty  or  stingy.  I 
think  if  you  would  believe  that  you  would  not  be  mis- 
taken." 

"  Lord,  I  know  it,"  cried  Rob.  "  You  do,  for  love's 
sake  and  charity's  sake,  what  /  would  never  do.  And 
old  Jim — Captain  Turbine,  I  mean — he's  got  some  fad 
or  other  for  acting  mean  and  stingy.  You're  both  play- 
ing at  it,  but  I  guess  I  know.  Don't  you  ever  think  but 
what  I  do." 

"  Captain  Turbine,"  assented  Mary,  "  is  a  Don 
Quixote." 

"No,"  cried  Rob,  "he's  a  real  knight,  marked 
genuine — all  but  the  trimmings,  helmet,  shield  and  mail. 
He  doesn't  wear  any  mail,  and,  confound  him,  he  doesn't 
bring  me  any  mail.  Ho,  ho  !  Ha,  ha !  " 

Mary  acknowledged  the  brilliance  of  his  jest  with  a 
gay  laugh  of  her  own. 

Just  then  Mrs.  Stingaree's  cane  rapped  sharply  from 
her  bedside  to  the  floor  in  the  closed  bedroom. 

"  Everybody  has  left  me,"  called  the  old  woman ;  and 
immediately  her  tortured  sense  of  endurance  gave  way 
to  the  shrill  tones  that  were  beginning  to  dominate  the 
diseased  brain.  "  Come  in  here,  somebody.  Come  and 
sit  with  me,"  she  called  raspingly.  "  That  Robert 
Hilton  said  he  would  come — but  he  never  came." 


152  POWER    LOT 

Mary  started  instantly  for  the  door.  Rob  saw  every- 
where about  the  signs  of  the  unfinished  housework  which 
he  had  interrupted,  and  a  pang  of  shame  went  to  his 
soul,  that  he  had  never  fulfilled  his  promise  to  sit  some- 
times with  the  afflicted  woman. 

"  Let  me  go."  He  advanced  to  Mary  eagerly.  "  She 
asked  for  me.  Let  me  go  in  and  sit  with  her." 

He  knocked  at  the  door.  "  It  is  Robert  Hilton,"  he 
announced  in  his  clear  voice.  "  I  am  coming  in  to  sit 
with  you  a  while,  if  you  will  allow  me." 

That  hearty,  singularly  glad  voice  seemed  to  delight 
and  soothe  the  old  woman. 

"  Come  in,  dear,"  she  said ;  "  they  all  neglect  me,  they 
all  desert  me." 

"  You  know  Miss  Stingaree  has  such  a  lot  to  do,  to 
get  meals  for  us  fellows,  and  all ;  for  my  part,  I  feel 
ashamed  to  have  her  work  so  for  me,"  said  the  cheerfully 
confidential  Rob,  taking  a  chair  at  her  bedside. 

"  Mary  is  a  good  girl — a  good  girl,"  said  the  old 
woman,  beginning  to  weep ;  "  but  my  head  tears  me — 
here  it  comes  again." 

Rob  took  her  hand  in  his.  There  had  grown  to  be 
an  exceedingly  firm  as  well  as  gentle  quality  in  his 
once  flaccid  touch ;  and  his  well-featured,  sunny,  ingen- 
uous face  added  to  the  general  reposefulness  of  his 
presence. 

"  Smoke  your  pipe  if  you  want  to,  Honey,"  said  the 
old  woman. 

"  Would  you  like  it  better  if  I  did?  "  Rob  asked,  will- 
ing to  sacrifice  his  hoarded  tobacco  at  a  lady's  command  ; 
though,  marvelous  to  relate,  not  in  the  mood  for  smoking 
just  now. 


THE    PASSAGE    THROUGH  153 

"  Yes,  I  would  like  it  better,"  she  avowed,  shrewdly 
guessing  that  he  would  stay  longer  with  her  if  he  had 
the  pipe  for  solace.  Rob  drew  his  old  clay  pipe  from 
his  pocket,  ostentatiously  managed  that  her  hand  should 
accidentally  touch  it  for  assurance,  and  put  it  between 
his  teeth,  but  he  had  not  lit  it.  Faithfully  again  he 
took  her  outstretched  hand  in  his.  She  gazed  with  her 
sightless  eyes  at  his  clear-cut  quiet  face ;  he  gazed  out  of 
the  open  window. 

Beyond,  there  lay  the  many  waters,  and  the  "  Gut," 
through  which  swept  in  the  profound  tides  from  the 
Bay  of  Fundy.  In  another  direction  lay  the  river  and 
its  hamlet  surrounded  by  its  dramatic  steeps.  Rob, 
though  prisoned  in  a  limited  and  temporary  sense, 
felt  the  throb  of  all  human  possibilities  in  his  veins. 
Some  time — some  time  soon,  in  his  young  life,  he  should 
"  make  out,"  beyond  the  Basin,  beyond  the  Bay,  and  into 
the  cities  and  the  ways  of  men  again.  But  this  poor 
palsied  creature  whose  hand  he  held,  for  her  there  was 
only  one  more  journey — that  brief  one,  from  her  bed  to 
those  white  stones  down  on  the  hillside. 

The  sublime  view,  which  had  so  uncomfortably  im- 
pressed Rob  at  first  (not  but  that  he  had  traveled  in 
his  time  and  glanced,  between  puffs  of  his  cigarette,  at 
highly  recommended  scenery — before  the  luxuries  of 
New  York  City  had  become  his  confirmed  and  exclusive 
habit) — the  sublimity  of  the  view  was  becoming  rather  a 
friendly  object  to  him. 

He  faced  it  almost  always  now,  instead  of  turning 
his  back  upon  it.  Some  of  the  sunsets  even  lured  him  to 
stand  and  look  off  as  absorbedly  as  if  at  a  theater.  Now 
and  then  the  panoply  of  nature  was  so  startling  and 


154  POWER    LOT 

so  gorgeous  he  actually  forgot  to  close  his  admiring 
and  astonished  mouth  as  he  stood  gazing. 

"  What  ye  gappin'  at?  "  Bate,  passing  with  the  milk 
pail,  had  inquired  contemptuously  on  one  such  occasion. 

There  glowed  in  the  west  such  a  riot  of  color,  of 
fiery  horses  of  the  sun,  of  purple-rimmed  cloud  chariots, 
traveling  along  a  highway  all  golden-paved,  over  there 
— and  all  in  plain  sight  of  miserable  Power  Lot,  God 
Help  Us. 

"  '  What  am  I  gaping  at '?  "  said  Rob,  half  turning 
his  head,  in  his  matter-of-fact  way.  "  Say,  just  look 
off  yonder,  Bate — what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

"  Middle  o'  June,  and  a  January  wind  to  the  nor'- 
west'ard,"  growled  Bate ;  "  freeze  our  crops  to-night, 
and  we'll  have  to  plant  all  over  ag'in  too  late — that's 
what  I  think." 

Rob's  jaw  had  dropped. 

Bate  jeered. 

"  Does  that  business  over  thar'  look  so  purty  to  ye, 
now?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Rob,  though  a  look  of  anxiety  and 
disappointment  had  settled  on  his  face.  "  I  can't  dis- 
count anything  on  the  grandeur  of  *  that  business  over 
there.'  " 

But  now — as  he  sat  by  poor  Mrs.  Stingaree's  bed — 
he  was  thinking  of  the  possibilities  of  a  bright  future 
for  himself  after  all,  as  set  against  her  brief  fateful 
journey  to  the  gravestones  on  the  hillside. 

Then  he  thought  of  Mary.  In  her  speech  she  was 
always  letting  drop  things  that  made  a  man  think;  he 
had  sat  spell-bound,  once,  down  at  the  River,  on  the 
back  seat  of  the  Baptist  meetinghouse,  where  she  had 


THE    PASSAGE    THROUGH  155 

elected  simply  to  hand  in  her  "  testimony  "  with  the 
rest.  She  believed  in  God,  actually,  this  sensible,  keen 
woman ;  believed  in  Him  with  her  whole  soul,  practically 
and  forthrightly. 

And  she  believed  that  the  journey  from  the  bed  to 
the  white  stones  on  the  hillside  was  not  the  end  of  all. 
She  seemed  to  regard  it  as  a  minor  affair,  and  unrelated 
to  the  soul,  which  had  great  enterprises  on  hand.  Her 
conception  of  existence  and  the  grandeur  of  being  were 
as  vast  as  the  universe  she  beheld;  leading  beyond  the 
"  Gut,"  as  it  were  the  strait  of  death,  into  infinite 
bays  of  achievement  and  to  undreamed-of  shores  of 
peace. 

These  thoughts  were  confusing,  dizzying,  to  Rob, 
as  once  the  physical  landscape  now  spread  before  his 
eyes  had  been. 

He  fell  asleep  in  his  chair.  Mrs.  Stingaree,  holding 
his  hand,  had  fallen  into  a  sleep  as  childlike.  In  his 
sleep  Rob  saw  the  sick  woman  rise  from  her  bed  and 
start  off  on  her  journey,  out  into  the  wind  and  sunshine ; 
and  the  apple  blossoms  fell  upon  her.  But  she  did  not 
stop  at  the  tombstones.  She  seemed  not  to  see  them. 
She  went  on  and  on — and  very  clearly  he  saw  her.  She 
crossed  the  nearer  waters  that  seemed  neither  to  touch 
nor  dismay  her,  and  wonderfully  she  entered  the  mighty 
tide  surging  in  through  the  "  Gut " ;  yet  was  she  not 
troubled  or  overwhelmed  by  it,  but  waved  her  hand  to 
him  from  afar,  smiling. 

Bate  looked  in  at  the  door  and  saw  his  mother,  quietly 
asleep,  her  withered  hand  held  fast  in  Rob's ;  and  Rob, 
asleep,  with  his  head  on  his  breast,  his  old  clay  pipe 
clasped  in  the  other  roughened  hand.  Bate's  face 


156  POWER    LOT 

showed  only  a  stupid  wonder,  but  he  closed  the  door 
softly  as  he  crept  away. 

Mary  came  later,  and  as  she  glanced  at  her  mother's 
face  a  sharp  look  crossed  her  own.  She  pressed  forward 
and  put  her  lips  to  her  mother's  forehead.  It  was  cold. 
There  was  no  awakening. 

"  It  has  reached  her  heart !  She  has  gone.  Mother 
— mother,  dear ! "  She  took  the  lifeless  form  in  her 
arms. 

Rob  slept  almost  as  soundly  as  the  dead. 

"  Robert,"  cried  Mary,  "  she  has  gone !  " 

"  Why,  yes — yes,  Mary"  said  the  bewildered  Rob, 
rubbing  his  eyes,  "  I  saw  her  go."  And  his  languid 
head  drooped  again  to  slumber. 

"  Robert,  the  disease  has  reached  her  heart — so  sud- 
denly, and  stilled  it.  She  has  gone !  Mother !  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Rob,  still  stupidly.  "  I  saw  her 
go." 

"  What  do  you  mean?     Mother  is  dead!  " 

Rob,  his  blue  eyes  vacuous  to  earth  and  still  enamored 
of  his  living  dream,  pointed  down  the  way  of  the  apple 
blossoms,  and  beyond,  to  the  swelling  tide.  "  She  went 
over  that  way,  honor  bright.  I  saw  her.  The  tide 
did  not  seem  rough  to  her.  She  did  not  mind  the 
passage  through." 

Rob  came  to  his  senses.  He  saw  only  Mary's  eyes, 
the  tears  on  her  white  cheeks.  She  regarded  him 
strangely  for  a  moment;  then  she  spoke,  quietly,  with 
quivering  lips: 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  saw  her  when  she  went,  Robert. 
I  am  glad  that  the  tide  did  not  seem  rough  to  her — 
that  she  did  not  mind  the  passage  through." 


CHAPTER  XI 

ANOTHER   HILL 

ROB  told  it  over  to  small  interested  groups  in  Power 
Lot,  afterward. 

"  Strange  that  she  should  go — so  nice — just  as  I 
sat  down  with  her,  or,  rather  soon  as  we  got  to  sleep. 
I  was  tired  as  a  dog.  I  slept  like  doom.  But  I  saw 
her  go.  Just  the  time  she  died,  too.  Honor  bright, 
saw  her  just  as  plain  as  I  see  you." 

Rob  assented  entirely,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  to 
the  proposition  that  he  "  had  dreamed."  But  his  in- 
tellectual processes  were  not  complex,  and  there  was  in 
him  an  incipient  idealism,  buried  in  the  past  sensual 
submergence  of  his  existence,  which  now  shot  up  a  lit- 
tle bud  of  promise  able  to  stand  by  itself,  and  as  literal, 
to  his  sense,  as  the  common  daylight. 

Always,  to  his  own  consciousness,  in  his  first  thought 
of  Mrs.  Stingaree's  passing,  he  believed  that  he  had 
seen  her  go;  and  it  was  a  demonstration  of  Mary's 
faith  in  such  matters.  Mary  was  a  marvelous  woman — 
a  conviction  that  grew  within  him  more  and  more  as, 
with  the  time  she  had  for  normal  sleep  since  her  moth- 
er's death,  and  the  time,  too,  to  improve  herself  and  her 
surroundings,  the  old  barracks  in  which  they  lived 
began  to  wear  an  atmosphere  attractive  and  even  piti- 
fully elegant. 

Rob,  with  an  added  awe  of  manner,  exchanged  his 
boots  for  his  slippers  at  the  house  door.  Bending 
157 


158  POWER    LOT 

over  on  the  doorstep  on  one  occasion  unlacing  his 
boots — his  face  red  with  the  sacred  urgency  of  his 
cause — Bate,  who  frequently  marched  in  mud-shod, 
accosted  him: 

"  Doin'  that  'cause  ye're  afraid  o'  a  woman's  tongue, 
Daisy?" 

"  No,  Smartweed,"  retorted  Rob,  "  I'm  doing  it  be- 
cause I'm  a  gentleman." 

"  Then,  if  you're  one,  I  don't  never  want  to  be  one," 
said  Bate,  with  such  deep  emphasis  that  the  remark 
stuck,  and  in  due  time  Rob  fell  a-thinking. 

How  much  was  known  of  his  past  history  he  had 
never  asked.  To  be  sure,  he  had  come  to  Power  Lot, 
God  Help  Us,  drunk  and  sodden.  To  be  sure,  he  was 
compromised,  in  Cuby's  sense  of  the  term,  by  certain 
light  and  reckless  professions  of  love  made  to  her; 
but  that  was  within  the  bounds  of  gentlemanly  conduct, 
he  considered.  To  be  sure,  his  heart  was  turning  to 
Mary  with  love  and  adoration  combined.  No  one  knew 
it,  he  believed.  The  growing  realization  was  a  joy  and 
an  inspiration  to  his  own  consciousness ;  it  flattered  his 
faint  moral  sense.  To  love  such  a  woman  surely  indi- 
cated the  man  of  honor.  And,  some  time,  he  might  win 
her? — that  trembling  hope  shed  its  far-reaching  glow 
over  his  sordid  labors — his  secret. 

But  the  divining  instincts  of  humanity  are  keen. 
Bate  knew,  and  bitterly  advised  Cuby  Tee-bo  to  have  an 
eye  on  her  lover.  And  Mary  knew,  to  her  sorrow. 
This  personal  equation  was  what  she  determined,  par- 
ticularly, to  eliminate  from  the  problem.  Rob's  mount- 
ing blushes  when  near  her,  his  avid  eagerness  to  antici- 
pate a!1  her  small  wishes,  and  the  blue  eyes  falling  be- 


ANOTHER    HILL  159 

fore  hers ;  these  things  touched  her  with  shame  and 
indignation.  She  addressed  him  seldom,  and  more 
shortly,  her  eyes  meeting  his  frankly  with  a  confirmed 
indifference — and  only  so  much  the  more  poor  Rob 
adored  her. 

Then,  one  morning  as  he  was  hoeing  his  own  pota- 
toes very  early,  Gar'  Tee-bo  made  a  detour  across  the 
fields  on  his  way  to  the  woods,  and  accosted  him  over 
the  fence. 

"  I  weesh  you  come  down  and  make  play  our  gemm 
wiz  the  gloves  again.  You  too  tarn  stupeed."  He 
smiled  fatherly  on  Rob,  with  a  pleasant  duplicity. 
"  Say,  you  come  to-night ;  we  make  play  our  leetle 
gemm  togezzer,  eh?  " 

"Yes,  I  will  come,"  said  Rob. 

He  went  that  evening.  The  wiry  Frenchman  gave 
him  so  clear  an  insight  into  some  new  features  of  the 
"  gemm  "  that  Rob,  sitting  on  the  kitchen  floor  with 
his  back  against  the  wall,  trying  to  collect  his  scat- 
tered breath,  felt  that  he  could  have  dispensed  with 
such  telling  proficiency  on  the  part  of  the  doughty 
Frenchman. 

But  Cuby  laughed. 

"  You  naughty  man,  to  make  hurt  my  pretty  Daisy," 
she  said. 

Rob  was  up  in  a  twinkling,  springing  at  Tee-bo  with 
savage  fury. 

Gar'  met  him.  "  You  t'ink  you  spill  me  lak  you  spill 
tarn  fool,  Bet'  Sting'ree,  eh?  You  t'ink  you  fall  over 
an'  sqush  me,  eh?  Fedder-Bed  you,  take  dat." 

But  Rob,  whom  excessive  passion  seemed  to  imbue 
with  skill,  caught  the  Frenchman's  trick,  and  Gar*  went 


160  POWER    LOT 

over  as  the  result  of  a  stinging  blow  in  turn  ;  and  Cuby, 
whose  hope  was  secretly  with  her  lover,  rushed  in  be- 
tween them. 

"  Do  you  quit,  father.  Rob, — he  play'  fair.  Let 
him  alone.  Quit  you  both.  Hear  to  me." 

The  combatants  after  surveying  each  other  like  two 
panting  dogs  submitted  to  be  led  to  chairs,  each  by  the 
hand  of  Cuby.  She,  with  sparkling  eyes,  innocent 
enough  in  her  simple  jealousy  and  folly,  by  all  means 
to  win  back  her  lover,  produced  a  jug  of  rum  and 
shook  it  gladsomely  in  the  faces  of  the  two. 

"Where  you  t'ink  I  got  heem,  eh?  "  said  Gar',  tak- 
ing the  jug  and  now  beaming  cordially  on  Rob. 

Rob  saw  a  vision  of  green  worlds  of  exceeding  bright- 
ness and  heights  of  exceeding  valor  fleeting  past  him 
out  of  his  reach ;  and  in  their  place  was  a  miserable,  low 
room  and  a  dirty  deal-table,  and  on  that  table  had  been 
placed  a  jug  of  rum. 

"Where  you  t'ink  I  got  heem,  eh?"  repeated  the 
Frenchman,  pointing  at  the  jug.  "  I  tell  you  how  I 
got  heem.  No — I  nevaire  tell  you.  You  rifform.  You 
keep  str'et.  You  rifform  an'  marry  my  Cuby  an'  keep 
yourself  stiddy.  I  don'  want  no  tarn  lezzy  d'unkard 
'roun'  here.  But,  to-night,  eh? — because  you  play 
good  gemm,  tarn  good  gemm — you  get  yourself  treat, 
frien'ly  togezzer,  eh?" 

Gar'  filled  a  glass  and  handed  it  to  Rob  with  beam- 
ing confidence,  and  Cuby's  questioning,  delighted  eyes 
were  on  him  too.  He  drank  it,  eagerly,  and  received 
another. 

Now  poor  little  Cuby's  benighted  work  was  all  cut 
out  for  her,  by  herself  and  her  less  intelligent  father. 


ANOTHER    HILL  161 

While  Rob  sat  up,  hilarious  and  extremely  voluble,  on 
the  house-bench,  Gar',  who  had  not  imbibed  so  freely, 
went  out  and  sought  the  local  justice  of  the  peace  for 
the  purpose  of  having  Rob  and  Cuby  married. 

But  the  same  smuggled  invoice  of  rum,  a  jug  of 
which  adorned  Gar's  table,  had  laid  low  the  justice  of 
the  peace ;  and  his  wife,  with  a  cheerful  and  exculpating 
wink,  pointed  him  out,  lying  half  dressed  on  his  bed,  de- 
voting himself  to  the  business  of  snoring  with  a  vigor 
which  precluded  the  possibility  of  his  adapting  himself 
to  any  other  pursuit. 

Captain  Belcher,  however,  though  elated,  was  in  so 
active  a  case  as  to  be  willing  to  stick  at  nothing — not 
even  the  hitherto  unattempted  performance  on  his  part 
of  uniting  two  people  in  marriage.  With  great  im- 
pressiveness  of  manner  he  now  conducted  this  rite, 
kissed  the  bride  with  effusion,  and  gave  Rob  a  jocose 
congratulatory  push,  which,  with  another  glass  from 
the  jug,  confirmed  the  latter  in  the  intention  which  he 
had  been  for  some  time  cherishing  of  disposing  himself 
on  the  floor  for  a  season  of  undiverted  slumber.  This 
cherished  desire  he  now  put  into  execution.  It  was 
morning  when  he  opened  his  heavy  eyelids. 

Ah,  those  hills  of  conquest,  those  fair  fields  of  achieve- 
ment, which  had  gone  fleeting  past  him  in  his  vision, 
— past  him,  out  of  sight.  He  lay  on  Gar'  Tee-bo's  floor, 
and  through  the  open  door  he  saw  the  gully  of  the  river 
at  low  tide.  The  flats  lay  cavernous  and  bare.  Despair 
swept  over  him;  he  wished  no  single  thing  except  that 
he  were  dead. 

Cuby  rose  equal  to  the  occasion.  She  was  up  early, 
fresh  as  the  morn,  resplendent  in  a  starched  pink  frock. 


162  POWER    LOT 

Steaming  hot  coffee  awaited  Rob  and  her  father,  and  a 
pan  of  fried  trout  besides  some  muffins  made  by  her 
own  skillful  little  hands. 

"  See  what  a  stupid  old  man  I  have,"  she  cried,  gayly 
cuffing  Rob  on  the  ear ;  "  he  make  me  ashem',  lak  we 
was  married  to  a  funeral." 

"  '  Married  ' !  "  exclaimed  Rob  dully,  from  his  end  of 
the  breakfast  table. 

Gar*  laughed  boisterously: 

"  He  forgit  how  he  mek  you  to  marry  heem,  Cuby. 
He  have  such  tarn  good  time  to  that  weddeen-party,  he 
forgit  all  what  he  done.  Ha,  ha ! " 

Rob  looked  at  Cuby.  She  nodded  her  pretty  head  at 
him  in  confirmation,  her  bright  eyes  tender  and  at  the 
same  time  challenging  him  to  show  a  becoming  joy. 
The  glory  of  beauty  and  of  health  was  upon  her,  and 
Rob  was  again  for  the  time  being  mentally  and  physi- 
cally a  waste.  He  put  his  hands  up  to  his  head  and 
groaned,  very  simply. 

"I  have  been  a  fool— a  fool!  Oh,  why  did  I 
touch  it?" 

Neither  Cuby  nor  her  father  seemed  to  resent 
this  unflattering  attitude  and  speech.  They  applied 
kindly  and  soothing  words.  They  affirmed  it  as  their 
desire  that  Cuby  should  remain  at  present  with  her 
father  to  keep  his  house;  while  Rob  should  continue 
living  at  the  Stingarees*  for  convenience  to  his  farm. 
Later,  he  might  come  into  the  interrupted  wealth  that 
was  rumored  still  to  be  his ;  or,  at  least,  when  his  po- 
tato crop  was  sold  in  the  Fall  they  might  rent  a 
barracks  of  their  own. 

Gar'  even  knew  of  several  desirable  places  of  this 


ANOTHER    HILL  163 

sort,  and  indicated  their  direction  through  the  window 
with  his  dirty  forefinger.  Rob's  soul  went  sick. 

"  I  want  to  be  on  the  hill,"  he  said  fretfully ;  "  there 
are  places  enough  up  there." 

"  You  use'  to  that  hill,  you  lak'  that  hill,"  replied 
the  Frenchman  genially ;  "  you  git  use'  to  the  River, 
you  lak'  the  River — see?" 

"No,"  cried  Rob  belligerently.  "I  teil  you  I'm 
going  to  live  on  the  hill." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Cuby  soothingly ;  "  me — I 
wan*  to  live  on  the  hill,  too.  We  shall  live  where  we 
make  to  please  ourselves,  Father."  But  there  was  a 
little  spark  of  malice  in  her  eye;  it  was  so  evident  that 
her  presence  did  not  make  hills  and  vales  a  matter  of 
indifference  to  Rob.  She  had  caught  her  handsome 
man,  and  lost  him — she,  the  beauty  of  the  River,  to 
whom  Rob  had  made  in  times  past  such  valorous  pro- 
testations of  love.  It  was  incomprehensible.  Somber, 
dark  "  old  Mary  Stingaree  "  had  bewitched  him.  But 
she  and  her  father  had  outwitted  Mary  Stingaree,  and 
she  could  win  Rob  back ;  anyway,  she  had  him  fast,  she 
could  afford  to  be  forbearing  and  patient. 

"  See,  Father,"  she  exclaimed  laughingly ;  "  my  old 
man  is  so  stiddy  already  he  weeshes  to  make  up  on 
the  hill  to  work  so  we  shall  buy  ourselves  a  home.  I 
knew  he  was  one  good  man,  or  I  should  not  marry  to  him 
— no."  Her  teeth  shone  merrily,  and  the  deep  rose 
glowed  in  her  cheeks. 

Rob  smiled  faint  appreciation,  perforce — wintry 
sunshine  on  the  pallid  remorse  of  his  features. 

"  Sure.  He  is  one  good  stiddy  man,"  said  the  French- 
man. "  He  shall  have  leetle — jest  a  leetle — for  ze  long 


164  POWER    LOT 

stip  hill,  eh?  "  And  he  produced  the  jug,  which  had 
been  replenished  through  some  dark  and  mysterious 
avenue  of  supply. 

"  Come,  son,"  he  began. 

A  frenzy  of  repugnance  seized  Rob.  The  familiar 
mode  of  address,  the  sight  of  the  vehicle  whose  con- 
tents had  wrought  his  ruin  as  the  Frenchman  held  it 
out,  his  low,  grimy  features  condescendingly  leering, 
caused  Rob  to  snatch  the  jug  and  hurl  it  through  the 
open  door,  out  over  the  ledges,  crashing  on  the  bare 
rocks  of  the  river  bed  below. 

"D — n  the  stuff!"  he  cried.  "D — n  the  infernal 
stuff,  forever  and  forever,  amen.  So  help  me  God! 
Now  I'm  going  to  get  out  of  here." 

"  You  t'rowed  heem  too  fur  to  smell  heem,  son — son," 
repeated  Tee-bo  hatefully,  trembling  with  anger.  But 
he  did  not  attack  Rob,  whose  fury  he  had  learned  to 
dread.  The  pupil  had  proven  powerful  as  well  as  apt, 
and  had  the  natural  advantage  of  being  twice  the  size 
of  his  antagonist. 

Cuby  clapped  her  hands.  "  He  is  gran',  Father. 
See  you  how  good  he  is.  A  girl  lak'  me  knows  how  to 
be  glad  that  her  husban'  is  rifform'.  Me — I  think  it 
is  good — good." 

"  Vair'  good.  He  is  rifform',"  muttered  the  French- 
man dryly,  going  out  to  harness  his  team  for  a  day  of 
log-hauling. 

Cuby  lifted  her  bright  face  for  Rob  to  kiss.  "  Good- 
by,"  she  said,  but  added  no  endearing  epithet. 

"  Good-by,  little  girl,"  said  Rob  manfully. 

Words  pressed  to  Cuby's  lips,  but  she  did  not  utter 
them. 


ANOTHER    HILL  165 

"  I  shall  be  awfully  busy  to-day,  Cuby,"  said  Rob. 
"  I  am  to  work  some  for  Mrs.  By  jo,  too.  But  I  shall 
come  down  to-morrow  to  see  you,  if  I  have  the  strength 
to  drag  down." 

Cuby's  brown  eyes  darkened — with  loving  tenderness, 
the  soul-sick  Rob  feared.  But  she  spoke  lightly. 

"  All  a-right,  Rober'.  You  shall  not  come  if  you  are 
tired.  To  come  down  the  hill  is  easy,  but  to  climb  back 
that  is  hard;  is  it  not  so?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  the  hard  part,"  said  Rob  grimly,  utter 
woe  in  his  eyes. 

Out  of  sight,  he  drew  a  long  breath,  and  lifting  his 
hat,  let  the  wind  blow  through  his  hair. 

"  If  I'd  kept  my  head,  I  was  getting  on  all  right  with 
— Mary,"  he  moaned,  slowly.  "  She  did  not  want  me 
to  love  her,  but  I  was  getting  clean  in  her  eyes,  and  I 
might,  in  time — oh,  God !  But  listen  " — he  ground  his 
teeth  at  the  fir  trees — "  for  I  swear  it  by  the  Almighty, 
living  or  dying,  hope  or  no  hope,  I'll  never  touch  that 
stuff  again;  not  if  they  get  on  their  knees  to  me;  not 
if  I  die  wanting  it — and  so  I  swear." 

He  clenched  his  fists  and  jaws  with  the  reviving 
obstinacy  of  some  ancestor  whose  own  will  had  been 
his  law,  who  having  chosen  some  path,  casting  all 
vain  desire  aside,  would  die  but  would  not  yield  his 
purpose. 

He  saw  Bate,  over  in  the  field,  though  not  at  work. 
He  was  sitting  on  the  fence,  thoughtfully  turning  his 
regard  from  the  crows  near  at  hand  to  the  flocks  of 
sea  gulls  in  the  distance.  The  fact  that  he  was  not  at 
work,  and  something  in  his  general  aspect,  sent  home 
to  Rob  the  thought  that  it  was  Sunday.  In  the  tumultu- 


166  POWER   LOT 

ous  experiences  of  the  past  twelve  hours  he  had  for- 
gotten. Cuby,  who  semi-occasionally  dressed  beyond 
all  the  rural  brightness  of  the  River  girls,  and  sat  fear- 
lessly on  one  of  the  back  seats  of  the  Baptist  church — 
Cuby  had  forgotten,  too.  As  for  Gar',  he  frequently 
sneaked  off  with  his  team  when  business  was  good  to 
make  a  haul  of  wood  on  Sunday.  The  first  thought  that 
came  to  Rob  was  that  he  was  glad  he  had  forgotten,  and 
had  made  his  escape  from  the  River. 

Drearily,  punctiliously,  he  took  off  his  boots  at  the 
door.  "  I'll  tell  her  myself,"  he  groaned,  and  entered 
hat  in  hand,  and  with  eyes  that  had  lost  the  fire  of  mortal 
hope.  But  the  news  had  already  flown  from  the  River 
to  Power  Lot  that  Rob  had  lain  drunk  all  night  at  Gar* 
Tee-bo's  and,  in  the  midst  of  the  orgy,  had  been  married 
to  Cuby. 

The  general  exhilaration  incident  to  so  full  a  flow 
of  liquid  delignt  among  the  revelers  at  the  River  caused 
these  reports  to  vary  in  particulars.  That  Rob  had 
drunk  freely  and  had  married  Cuby,  none  disputed. 
Captain  Belcher,  having  been  informed  by  the  fastidious 
master  of  the  cruiser  which  had  anchored  overnight 
alongshore,  that  he  had  made  himself  criminally  liable 
by  his  adventure  as  a  welder  of  wedlock  bonds,  took  a 
fancy  to  credit  the  statement,  and  now  disowned  the 
deed  as  proudly  and  blusteringly  as  he  had,  in  fact, 
committed  it,  referring  the  act  to  its  proper  perpe- 
trator, the  Justice  of  the  Peace:  he,  jealous  of  his  office, 
and  knowing  his  own  frailties,  though  somewhat  wonder- 
ing, consented  that  he  was  indeed  the  man. 

Wherefore,  for  Captain  Belcher  had  a  stout  influ- 
ence, the  Justice  of  the  Peace  version  was  at  present 


ANOTHER    HILL  167 

prevailing,  and  in  most  instances  honestly  believed, 
and  it  was  this  that  had  come  to  Mary's  ears. 

She  was  sitting  in  the  room  which  had  been  her 
mother's.  The  bed  had  been  removed  and  the  place 
very  neatly  transformed  into  a  sitting-room,  and  Mary, 
her  morning  work  done,  was  there  reading. 

Rob  knocked.  Mary  came  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 
She  did  not  invite  him  to  sit  down;  she  awaited  what 
he  had  to  say. 

"  I  guess  you  know?  "  he  murmured.  His  look  was 
the  most  desolate  she  had  ever  seen  in  all  her  life;  his 
lips  were  shriveled  and  cracked. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered. 

"  They  put  that  hellish  drink  before  me,"  he  went 
on :  "  the  girl  herself  offered  it ' 

"  Oh,  don't  go  on,"  said  Mary  wearily ;  "  there  is 
no  one  to  blame  but  yourself." 

Rob  gasped. 

"  We  cannot  fence  you  'round  with  a  special  environ- 
ment and  with  perfect  conditions,"  she  said.  "  The 
world  is  full  of  pitfalls  and  temptations ;  if  you  cannot 
avoid  and  resist  them,  what  is  the  use?  I  do  not  see 
any  help  for  it." 

"  So  you  think  there  is  not  any  help  for  me,  now?  " 

"  What  do  you  think?  In  such  a  case  as  this,  Robert 
Hilton,  I  believe  I  would  think  for  myself,  and  right 
strongly." 

"  I  could  buy  her  off,  if  I  had  the  money — that  is 
rightfully  mine." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  I  said  that  I  could  buy  Cuby  off." 

"I  wish,"   said  Mary— for   she   thought  that   Rob 


168  POWER    LOT 

was  more  deeply  implicated  than  he  actually  was,  and 
so  she  had  no  mercy — "  I  wish  that  Virginia  would  come 
in  with  her  oxwhip."  Tears  of  rage  and  disgust  filled 
her  eyes. 

"  Miss  Stingaree,  I  have  never  wronged  Cuby."  Rob 
faced  her  with  stern  dignity  and  royal  faith  at  last. 
"  They  got  me  drunk.  I  swear  to  you,  I  remember 
nothing  of  the  marriage  ceremony.  I  slept,  drunk,  all 
night  on  the  floor." 

"  You  had  promised  to  marry  her." 

"  I — I  thought  she  took  it  in  fun.  I  meant  it  in  fun 
— that  is,  of  course,  not  seriously.  How  could  7  marry, 
on  nothing,  off  here?  " 

"  Evidently  she  took  it  seriously ;  and — you  promised 
her,  and — you  have  married  her.  A  promise  and  its 
fulfillment.  I  see  no  way  but  to  make  the  best  of  it." 

Rob  looked  away  out  of  the  window;  his  haggard 
face  and  quivering,  parched  lips  were  pitiful  to  see. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Mary,  as  she  returned  to  her  seat 
by  the  table,  resting  her  head  on  her  arm ;  her  own  face 
was  sorrowful. 

Rob  sat  down,  weakly,  as  though  no  health  or 
strength  remained  in  him. 

"  Well,  I'm  done  for,"  he  said.  "  It's  all  over,  and 
I'm  done  for ;  and  I've  lost  your  respect  now,  forever." 

"  No,  oh  no,"  she  answered  quietly ;  "  you  have  never 
yet — won  it — very  fully."  She,  whose  tone  was  usually 
electric  with  meaning  and  decision,  spoke  now  so  com- 
passionately, so  fearful  of  wounding  him,  he  cried  from 
the  very  depths. 

"  You  never  could  respect  me,  now." 

"  That  means,"  she  sighed,  "  you  haven't  the  courage 


ANOTHER    HILL  169 

to  get  up  after  a  fall,  to  win  out,  to  climb  up,  to  gain 
your  own  self-respect  first  of  all.  I  wondered  if  you 
would  have  the  courage.  I  knew — you  had — consider- 
able courage;  I  wondered  if  you  would  have — such 
courage." 

Rob  sat  a  while,  silent,  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  his 
ruminations  seemed  to  bring  him  no  exaltation. 

"  The  road  looks  devilish  steep,"  he  said  at  last, 
grinding  his  teeth,  and  looking  up  with  only  remorse 
and  bitterness  on  his  face. 

Mary  did  not  answer. 

"  I  can't  live  with  her,"  he  continued  angrily.  "  I 
don't  love  her,  really — and  she  doesn't  honestly  and 
truly  care  for  me.  She — I've  always  seen  it — she 
bridles  and  blushes  with  all  her  soul  when  Captain  Jim 
Turbine  comes  in  sight.  But  she  thinks,  she  and  her 
father,  that  I  may  have  money  some  time.  Cuby  thinks 
I  may  be  able  to  take  her  to  gay  cities  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  some  time.  Anyway,  I  can't  go  down  there, 
down  to  the  River,  to  live — I  can't  do  it." 

"Do  they  ask  it?" 

"  N-no ;  Gar'  said  better  live  up  here  till  I'd  earned 
enough  to  buy  a  home.  It's  a  great  inspiration,  isn't  it, 
to  work  for — to  work  as  I've  got  to  work?  " 

He  lifted  his  dry,  haggard  eyes,  stolid  with  despair, 
to  Mary. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  her  manner  toward  him  had 
never  been  so  considerate,  so  almost  confidential,  as  now 
— now  that  he  had  lost  her.  Her  voice  ran  on  at  last, 
so  kindly: 

"  The  steepest  hills  are  sometimes  climbed,  not 
through  '  inspiration,'  but  only  with  pain,  persistence 


170  POWER    LOT 

and  pain.  It  doesn't  make  any  difference,  does  it,  so 
long  as  we  get  to  the  top?  There  might  be  a  view  up 
there  that  would  almost  make  one  forget  the  pain.  I 
do  not  know — but  it  might  be.  I  believe  I  would  trust 
to  it.  I  believe  with  all  my  soul  it  would  prove  true." 

In  such  a  tone,  a  mother,  free  of  all  passion  save  the 
heavenly,  might  speak  to  a  crushed  and  bleeding  child. 
It  was  tragic,  to  Rob;  but,  still,  it  was  sweet;  any 
tenderness  from  her  was  unutterably  sweet.  And  if, 
like  a  child,  he  might  have  put  his  head  down  on  her 
breast,  just  that  once,  just  for  one  moment,  and  felt 
her  hand  on  his  forehead,  he  believed  that  he  could  go 
forward,  marry  Cuby,  raise  his  family,  hoe  potatoes, 
to  the  last  earthly  sunset,  and  then  knock  with  square 
shoulders  for  admittance  at  the  gates  of  heaven  as  a 
faithful  husbandman  and  householder. 

That  memory  was  not  to  be  his.  Her  dark  eyes  pitied 
his  weakness,  but  her  tried  heart  turned  from  him  with 
a  weary  sigh. 

He  went  to  his  own  room,  sank  on  the  bed,  and  slept 
with  the  heavy  reaction  of  one,  who,  from  a  vista  of 
majestic  battles  and  bays  of  victory,  suddenly  turns 
to  find  that  he  has  nothing  to  live  for. 

He  did  not  hear  the  call  to  dinner. 

"  At  it  ag'in,  up  in  his  room,  I  s'pose,"  said  Bate  to 
Mary ;  "  brought  a  bottle  home  with  him,  prob'ly." 

Mary  did  not  know;  but  her  heart  gave  a  bound  of 
relief  in  spite  of  herself,  when  Rob  came  down  in  the 
early  evening  scrupulously  dressed  for  "  Sunday," 
penitent  and  resigned,  his  eyes  slightly  dazed  at  the  new, 
hard  future  which  faced  him  with  the  stupendous  mush- 
room growth  of  a  single  night. 


ANOTHER    HILL  171 

"  Goin'  down  to  take  yer  wife  to  meetin'  ?  "  Bate  in- 
quired, in  a  tone  of  unusual  jocularity. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rob,  and  it  would  have  been  hard  to  pick 
a  fight  with  him. 

In  his  heart  of  hearts  he  was  going  down  to  the 
Baptist  meeting-house  to  hear  Mary  sing.  It  was  the 
monthly  Sunday  evening  "  song  service,"  and  Mary 
affiliated  herself  with  the  River  so  far  as  to  go  down  to 
sing  with  and  for  them  on  these  occasions,  just  as  in 
old  times.  "  Special  request "  for  solos  poured  in  upon 
her  at  these  times,  and  she  complied,  meekly,  religiously. 
It  was  about  the  only  time  one  ever  saw  her  meek. 
When  she  shone,  and  her  voice  thrilled  you  and  sent 
light  into  the  souls  of  the  spiritually  dim  of  vision,  then 
it  was  that  she  was  meek ;  and  it  was  worth  going  to  see 
and  hear. 

Rob  went  in  to  the  meeting,  in  the  face  of  the  gaping 
villagers,  with  Cuby  showily  hanging  on  to  his  arm. 
Verily,  Rob's  high  heart  was  safe  broken. 

"  Say,  what  was  your  maiden  name  afore  ye  got 
married,  Daisy?  "  he  heard  an  envious  youth  taunt  him 
from  among  the  group  which  besieged  the  door.  Rob's 
polished,  clean-shaven  face  did  not  change,  any  more 
than  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  insult ;  it  did  not  touch 
him.  Nothing  mattered  much.  It  mattered  to  Cuby. 
She  sprang  deftly  aside  and  dealt  that  wicked  one  a 
ringing  box  on  the  ear  with  the  palm  of  her  pretty 
hand. 

"  Mind  you  your  business,"  she  admonished  him,  with 
finality.  Cuby  was  immensely  admired  and  respected 
among  the  River  boys,  and  he  of  the  aggressive  speech 
melted  on  the  instant  into  abashed  retreat. 


172  POWER    LOT 

Mary  sat  with  the  "  choir  "  on  the  rude  platform, 
and  sang  with  them,  entirely  patient  of  the  nasal  or 
strident  voices  which  accompanied  hers.  Rob  thought 
her  voice,  as  compared  with  the  others,  like  a  white- 
winged  boat  sailing  a  clear,  straight  path  through  a 
choppy  sea.  He  waited  until  the  drastic  office  of  the 
general  hubbub  should  cease,  and  he  should  hear  her 
voice  alone. 

"  Miss  Stingaree  is  *  specially  requested,'  to  know 
ef  she  will  sing  *  Peace,  be  still,'  "  announced  officially 
the  salubrious  tones  of  Captain  Belcher. 

Miss  Stingaree  sang,  and  the  Galilean  storm,  perturb- 
ing in  some  way  or  other  every  poor  human  soul  there 
present,  fell  ahushed  and  wondering  at  her  voice: 

"  «  Peace,  be  still:  peace,  be  still.'  " 

Rob  listened  with  downcast  head.  He  could  not  look 
at  her — he  dared  not,  so  full  was  his  heart. 

"  Come  een,  Meester  Heelton,"  said  Gar',  more  re- 
spectfully at  the  door  whither  Rob  had  escorted  Cuby  ; 
"come  een,  have  leetle  'musement,  eh?  Sure,  that  ees 
tarn  good  way ; "  and  he  winked  suggestively  of  a  re- 
cruited jug. 

"  No,"  said  Rob,  "  I  must  be  up  yonder  ready  for 
my  work  in  the  morning."  He  turned  suddenly  to 
Cuby.  "  I  will  work  for  our  home  with  all  my  might, 
little  girl,"  he  said. 

Cuby  nodded  assent,  but  she  was  distinctly  weary  of 
Rob.  His  easy  smiles,  his  ready  laughter  with  its 
complement  of  glittering,  white  teeth,  the  accustomed 
swagger  of  his  gait,  all  these  amiable  qualities  seemed 
to  have  left  him,  as  if  some  mysterious  wand  of  Fate 


ANOTHER    HILL  173 

had  touched  and  changed  him  in  an  hour  into  the  form 
of  withering  eld. 

"  You  act  funnee,"  she  adjured  him.  "  You  act 
lak'  you  was  walkin'  'round  in  you'  sleep,  lak'  you  was 
in  your  baid  asleep."  She  tried  the  effect  of  her  own 
merry  laugh. 

Rob  smiled  wanly ;  but  it  seemed  to  him,  as  he  climbed 
the  hill,  that  her  words  were  not  inapt.  To  his  own 
soul,  he  seemed  to  be  walking  in  his  sleep. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE    FIGHT   WITH    BEASTS 

THE  slow  Leevya  Potter  had  sailed  off  at  last  with  her 
cargo  of  wood.  In  the  faithful  processes  of  time  she 
returned,  like  the  proverbial  bad  penny,  to  her  native 
shore — the  signal  for  a  gala  night  among  the  rum- 
loving  of  the  River. 

Both  Cuby  and  her  father  counted  upon  this  as  a 
means  of  rallying  Rob  once  more.  The  vain  girl, 
ignorant  and  impetuous  as  she  was  innocent,  instead  of 
congratulating  herself  on  his  sustained  habit  of  temper- 
ance and  condoning  his  moods  of  sorrowful  dignity, 
was  alert  with  suspicion;  and  for  very  pride's  sake,  in 
the  face  of  her  small  world,  would  rather  have  him 
fallen,  and  her  own. 

The  "  Hill "  was  all  too  plainly  the  haven  where  he 
would  be.  He  worked  doggedly  and  unfalteringly;  his 
calls  at  the  River  grew  fewer  and  more  brief.  Then, 
after  the  slow  sidling  in  of  the  Leevya,  Bate  approached 
Rob  in  that  ingratiating  style  which  boded  only  ill  to 
its  victim. 

"  I  was  down  to  the  River  this  mornin',"  he  said. 
"  Cuby  sent  up  word  she  wanted  to  see  ye  particular." 

Rob  went  at  once.     On  entering  Gar'  Tee-bo's  door 

he  fell  at  once  upon  the  purpose  of  his  summons,  and 

a  singular  group  seated  in  intense  devotion  around  a 

table  on  which  stood  a  profusion  of  bottles,  some  with 

174 


THE    FIGHT    WITH    BEASTS  175 

labels  which  he  recognized  as  of  distinction  of  quality 
and  well  approved  in  his  revels  of  old.  Bate,  he  ob- 
served with  some  surprise,  had  arrived  before  him,  and 
was  already  seated  at  the  table. 

"  Take  a  cheer,"  cried  a  convivial  voice.  "  Come  on, 
Bobby,  an'  have  a  little  o'  the  hummin'  bird.  S-s-sh. 
Ain't  this  the  purtiest  mess  o'  booze  ye  ever  see?  A 
man  can't  allus  be  a  parson.  '  All  work  an'  no  play 
makes  Jack '  " 

Rob  surveyed  the  scene  and  turned  white,  not  with 
the  struggle  of  self-denial,  but  with  the  very  demon  of 
anger.  He  turned  on  his  heel,  slammed  the  door  behind 
him,  and  walked  away. 

Cuby  called  to  him,  Gar'  shouted  after  him  with  an 
oath,  but  he  tramped  on  sturdily,  and  the  outline  of  his 
shoulders  was  forbidding.  He  had  become  physically 
a  problem  which  the  denizens  of  the  River  had  no  dispo- 
sition to  tackle,  and  his  insolent,  broad  back  was  al- 
lowed to  disappear  into  the  dusk,  unmolested. 

"  Heem  no  good.  Heem  tarn  fool,"  said  Gar'  ma- 
liciously. 

"  Ma'y  Sting'ree  has  made  of  herself  a  witch,  to  him, 
she  has  him  bewitch',"  averred  Cuby,  in  a  high  passion 
of  mortification  and  disappointment. 

"  Look  here,  Cuby,"  said  Bate,  once  an  acknowledged 
suitor  for  her  hand  who  had  been  despised  for  the 
sake  of  the  fair-haired  Rob ;  "  look  here,  Ma'y  ain't 
no  witch.  The'  is  witches  that  I  know  of,  but  it  ain't 
her." 

He  winked  at  her  as  he  met  her  eye,  with  an  assump- 
tion of  the  old-time  license  to  render  her  her  due  of 
admiration. 


176  POWER   LOT 

Rob  marched  on  up  the  hill;  and  he  had  now  no  be- 
wildered sense  of  walking  in  his  sleep.  His  spirit  was 
afire,  his  soul  was  resolute.  Once  he  paused  in  exulta- 
tion and  shook  his  fist  in  the  direction  of  the  low  orgies 
at  the  River. 

"  You  did  not  trap  me,  this  time,  no.  You  laid  some 
honey  for  the  bear — and  the  bear  did  not  care  a  d — n 
for  it,  did  he?  You  baited  up  your  old  hooks — and  the 
fish  swum  past  'em  without  a  nibble.  You've  met  your 
man,  now,  you  devils,  and  we'll  have  it  out.  You'll  find 
what  I'm  made  of.  You'll  find  whether  I've  forgotten,  or 
can  ever  forget,  by  God,  the  blood — the  good  blood — 
the  high  blood — that  runs  in  my  veins — you ;  why,  my 
grandfather,  my  father,  would  have  looked  at  you  as  all 
of  a  mess  with  the  dirt  under  their  feet." 

Rob's  nostrils  quivered,  his  head  towered  high ;  he 
scarcely  felt  the  tedium  of  the  ascent  as  he  turned  again 
to  climb.  He  stood  on  the  summit,  looking  seaward. 
The  moon  had  risen,  and  the  holy  splendor  of  the  world 
beat  in  awesomely  upon  his  consciousness. 

"  Say,  it's  wonderful,  just  living,  up  here,"  he 
breathed  to  himself ;  "  it's — it's — interesting.  Just  liv- 
ing and  looking  'round  is  interesting  enough,  up  here, 
by  Jove." 

The  night  was  by  far  too  glorious  to  ignore,  and 
the  Stingaree  house  was  dark;  Mary,  calling  on  some 
of  the  neighbors,  probably.  Rob,  high  of  heart,  feared 
nothing.  The  sense  was  upon  him  that  he  could  march 
anywhere,  even  over  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  scathless. 

"  There  must  be  a  superb  view  over  at '  Spook  House  ' 
to-night,"  he  murmured.  "  I'll  go  over  there  and  take 
a  peek  at  it." 


THE    FIGHT    WITH    BEASTS  177 

Through  ditch  and  brush  and  along  the  edge  of 
ledges  he  made  his  way ;  for  he  was  unfamiliar  with  the 
trail  known  to  the  natives,  along  which  only  once  Cuby 
had  directed  his  steps  when,  absorbed  in  her  pretty 
merriment,  he  had  gone  with  her  to  hear  the  "  knock- 
in's  "  at  Spook  House. 

There  had  dwelt  at  one  time  at  Power  Lot  and  the 
River,  a  purely  English  element,  so  far  inspired  by  the 
religious  and  aesthetic  sense  as  to  rear  a  little  church 
on  the  commanding  pinnacle  toward  which  Rob  was  now 
advancing.  That  little  band  of  worshipers — expa- 
triate in  this  strange  land — had  long  since  ceased  to 
assemble  at  any  earthly  summons,  though  the  bell  in 
the  old  steeple  called  weirdly  for  them  on  certain  nights 
when  the  wind  was  high.  And  there  were  some  who  said 
they  did  assemble,  all  in  wedding-white,  amid  the  aisles 
of  the  crazy  old  church  now  called  "  Spook  House  " — 
where  no  other  congregation  had  gathered  for  many  a 
long  year.  Only  the  lovelorn,  for  lack  of  any  more 
cheerful  or  definite  entertainment,  were  accustomed  to 
wander  thither  through  the  sentimental  shades  of  even- 
ing to  listen  to  the  "  knockings  "  made  by  the  super- 
natural visitors  within. 

Meanwhile,  whatever  single  item  of  the  wild  and 
tragic  had  been  lacking  to  the  landscape  of  Power  Lot 
was  supplied  by  this  old  hulk  of  an  edifice,  standing 
tower-like,  wind-beaten  and  desolate,  on  its  forlorn 
height,  a  thrilling  reminder  of  transcendental  reverie 
to  all  the  country  round. 

Rob  had  forgotten  about  the  knockings.  The  night 
drew  him,  and  the  moonlight,  and  the  awful  isolation 
and  grandeur  of  the  site.  It  was  farther  than  he  had 


178  POWER    LOT 

imagined,  but  he  walked  on  stoutly,  coming  up  at  the 
rear  of  the  church  and  intending  to  make  straightway 
for  the  front  for  the  sublimity  of  the  sea  view. 

But  he  heard  the  low  murmur  of  voices,  and  before 
the  traditions  concerning  Spook  House  could  pierce 
his  sense  with  any  terror,  he  distinctly  recognized. Mary 
Stingaree's  voice.  Amaze  and  curiosity  held  him  still. 
Standing  on  a  bank  of  underbrush,  he  could  look 
through  the  yawning  windows  to  those  that  were  also  a 
paneless,  yawning  gulf  on  the  other  side.  There,  out- 
side the  church,  leaning  against  the  rotten  windowsill, 
stood  Mary  and  myself — Jim  Turbine.  Our  faces  were 
turned  from  him,  our  view  was  to  the  sea.  A  sudden 
mad  jealousy  seized  Rob,  to  whom  I  had  been  an  object 
quite  outside  the  pale  of  any  serious  friendship  with  a 
woman  like  Mary  Stingaree. 

"  Well,"  I  said  to  Mary,  unaware  of  my  smoulder- 
ing audience  at  the  rear  of  the  church,  "  if  you  wish, 
I'll  go  down  to  the  River  and  see  what  I  can  do  to 
get  Rob  and  Bate  away  from  Tee-bo's." 

"  They  both  went  down  there,"  she  answered.  "  Vir- 
ginia told  me.  She  gets  all  the  gossip,  voluntarily 
rendered  through  Mrs.  Treet." 

"  At  the  house  I  hardly  felt  inclined  to  bother  with 
*em,"  I  said ;  "  but  when  you  look  off  here,  things  that 
did  not  seem  of  so  much  consequence  get  up  and  sing 
inside  a  man  as  though  they  demanded  to  be  heard  be- 
fore other  things.  That  is  all  the  way  I  can  put  it.  I 
reckon  you  understand." 

"  My  '  brother '  Jim !  I  knew  that  you  would  go. 
Did  I  take  an  unfair  advantage,"  she  added,  half  smil- 
ing, "  in  bringing  you  here,  on  the  way,  to  look  off 


THE    FIGHT    WITH    BEASTS  179 

over  sea  and  land?  Shall  you  go  down  the  footpath  of 
the  ledges,  Jim?  I'll  go  back  home  alone,  and  I  shall 
think  of  you — with  more  gratitude — than  I  can  ever 
speak — every  step  of  the  way." 

She  was  eager  to  have  me  gone.  I  never  yet  had 
stumbled  by  luck  on  any  romantic  situation  with  Mary 
but  that  the  summons  came  to  me  from  some  quarter  or 
other  to  go  off  straightway  and  risk  my  neck  some- 
where for  the  sake  of  other  folks.  Still,  I  made  easy 
of  the  fatality,  being  dire  used  to  it.  I  loitered  only 
a  few  moments. 

"  You  can  easily  manage  to  get  Robert  away,  I 
think,"  she  continued  rapidly ;  "  you  can  easily  per- 
suade him!  but  Bate,  in  spite  of  his  degradation,  is  a 
man  in  determination,  you  know." 

"  Rob  threw  Tee-bo's  jug  of  rum  off  into  the  river- 
bed; so  I've  heard." 

"  Yes,  but  he  was  in  a  pet.  There's  no  *  hold-fast '  to 
him.  In  another  mood,  a  little  hardship  or  disappoint- 
ment, and  he  would  drink  again  like  a  fish." 

She  sighed  and  turned  her  face  northward  where  the 
evening  star  shone.  Rob  saw  the  beautiful  profile.  I 
looked,  too,  wistfully. 

"  Mary,"  I  said,  "  I've  offered  myself  to  you  many 
times,  I  know ;  and  I  am  not  worthy  of  you.  I  do  not 
blame  you.  But  if  you  could  ever  look  to  me  a  bit,  I'd 
give  my  life  to  make  you  happy." 

"  You  honor  me,  I  know  that,"  she  replied  graciously, 
and  with  an  intensity  meant  to  compensate  me  for  the 
loss  of  all,  "  but — forgive  me — that  can  never  be." 

She  rested  her  hand  on  my  arm,  and  I  upheld  her. 
But  I  reckoned,  though  she  saw  far,  there  were  some 


180  POWER    LOT 

steep  places  in  the  world  that  poor  Rob  and  I,  even, 
might  have  a  better  knowledge  of  than  she. 

"  Is  there  anyone  else,  Mary?  "  I  said.  "  I  am  such 
an  old  friend,  you  might  tell  me  if  there  is  anyone  else?  " 
She  seemed  to  regard  the  question  as  too  meaningless  to 
require  an  answer;  her  look  seaward  was  not  that  of 
a  girl  remembering  a  lover;  it  was  only  thoughtful,  as 
though  her  soul  went  gravely  off  that  way. 

"  I  believe  poor  *  Daisy  '  loves  you  with  all  his  heart," 
I  said. 

She  came  back  from  her  abstraction,  and  laughed. 

"  He  is  a  charming  boy,  when  he  is  himself,  but  he  is 
not  a  man  at  all,  Jim.  What  ever  put  such  a  thought 
into  your  head?  Rob!  why,  he  does  not  seem  to  me  to 
be  a  man  at  all." 

Someone  slunk  away  in  the  shadows.  I  went  my  way 
down  the  ledges,  and  Mary  went  her  way  along  the 
trail,  home.  Neither  of  us  saw  Rob.  Like  a  stag, 
vitally  shot,  proud  to  die  alone,  he  turned  aside  where 
no  one  would  overtake  him  and  sat  down  weakly  upon 
a  stone  behind  a  clump  of  bushes. 

Moments  elapsed  before  he  lifted  his  head  again  to 
the  solemn,  sentient  scene  spread  wide  before  him.  For 
his  making  or  his  marring,  he  was  alone  in  the  universe, 
now.  Every  prop  had  fallen  away  from  him.  The 
last  friend  of  all — and  the  dearest  he  had  ever  known 
— had  scorned  him.  He  saw  again  her  sweet  profile,  he 
heard  her  slighting  words. 

"  He — he  is  not  a  man  at  all." 

And  earth  and  air  repeated  the  words  about  him,  not 
jeeringly,  but  with  an  immeasurable  sorrow.  Rob  fell 
so  low  that  he  fell  back  on  elemental  reason.  Why  had 


THE    FIGHT    WITH    BEASTS  181 

Mary  seemed  so  far  from  him?  and  the  hope  of  winning 
her  always  as  suspensive  and  vague  as  yonder  infinitely 
distant  star?  He  could  not  "  hold  fast,"  he  was  vain 
of  purpose,  weak  of  will — he  was  "  not  a  man  at  all." 

The  latchkey  years  came  back  to  him,  the  nights  of 
carousal,  the  sodden  days,  his  paralyzing  illness,  the 
suicidal,  driveling  idiocy  of  it  all.  And  even  when  health 
had  been  restored  through  sheer  force  of  circumstances 
and  necessity,  his  riotous  will,  at  the  first  sight  of  the 
tempter,  had  plunged  him  unhesitating  into  the  well  of 
his  former  dissipations.  He  had  made  idle  love  to  a 
girl  whom  now  he  longed  to  cast  from  him;  he  had 
gone  whining  to  Mary  Stingaree  with  his  selfish  re- 
grets. He  was  "  not  a  man  at  all." 

Rob  fell  so  very  low  that  even  resentment,  which  once 
would  have  swept  in  upon  him  as  a  flood,  had  now  no 
place  in  his  soul.  All  his  newly  acquired  vigor  had 
oozed  from  his  blood,  all  courage  from  his  heart.  He 
dreaded  to  rise.  How  long  he  sat  there  he  neither  knew 
nor  cared.  It  was  a  long  vigil.  Mary  went  sadly  to 
her  room,  leaving  the  house  door  open  for  the  return  of 
the  wanderers.  I  went  down  to  the  River  and  found 
Bate  at  the  evil  brew,  but  not  Rob. 

Rob  sat  crushed  and  hopeless,  alone  on  the  mountain- 
side; unbearably  alone  when,  at  last,  he  staggered  to 
his  feet.  It  was  too  much.  The  soul  cannot  live  alone, 
and  Rob,  of  sheer  necessity,  cried  out. 

"  O  God,"  moaned  the  poor  lad,  "  are  You  any- 
where? " 

He  had  a  simple  fancy  that  only  the  old  Bible,  bend- 
ing itself  to  those  dilemmas  of  the  soul  commonly  known 
as  "  religion,"  besides  being  the  traditional  refuge  of 


182  POWER    LOT 

the  sick  at  heart,  could  tell  him  that.  He  crept  up  to 
his  room  noiselessly,  and  with  one  hand  weakly  support- 
ing himself  by  the  table,  he  opened  the  ancient  volume. 
"  If,  after  the  manner  of  men  " — there  it  was,  again — 
his  text,  evidently;  God  threw  it  at  him,  persistently. 
"  If,  after  the  manner  of  men,  I  have  fought  with  beasts 
at  Ephesus." 

Beasts?  Beasts  of  intemperance,  perhaps;  of  reck- 
less riotousness,  of  selfish  passion,  of  weak,  purpose- 
less will?  And  fighting  them  for  what? 

Ah,  nothing  left  now  for  him  in  all  the  world  of 
delight  and  beauty,  but  just,  as  a  poor  skeleton  in  moral 
rags,  to  try  to  stand  up  and  "  be  a  man." 

Not  one  bit  gloriously,  but  after  the  manner  of  the 
abject,  goaded  to  his  feet  in  the  ring.  Not  with  love 
and  honor  and  acclaim;  but  quite  forsaken,  a  beaten 
soul  naked  to  the  scorn  of  all,  even  so,  unfalteringly 
now  to  the  death,  to  stand  up  and  "  fight  with  beasts 
at  Ephesus." 

Rob  clenched  his  fists  once  more,  and  lifted  to  heaven 
the  rekindling  fire  in  his  woe-begone  eyes.  There  was 
still  a  fight  left. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

FRIENDLY 

THE  depths  of  life  are  not  with  the  suicide,  nor  with 
the  man  whose  hair  turns  gray  in  a  single  night;  these 
treat  existence  with  comparatively  absurd  lightness. 
The  depths  are  with  him  who,  through  the  lowness  of 
his  fall  and  the  humility  of  his  soul,  has  caught  a  sense 
of  the  ocean  of  eternity  about  him;  who  has  lost  his 
importance  to  himself,  and  walks,  well  entertained  and 
listening,  childlike,  along  the  shore. 

Though  the  rollicking  nature  reasserted  itself  in  Rob, 
it  was  purely ;  there  were  newly  channeled  depths,  over 
which  the  sprite  sat  sunning  himself,  but  the  depths 
were  there. 

"  Say,  Hilton's  wriggled  clear  o*  Ma'y's  apern- 
strings,"  said  Bate  to  Cuby.  "  He's  perlite  to  her,  but 
he's  clean  got  over  his  mash." 

"Me — /  think  he  is  crack'  in  his  haid,"  admitted 
Cuby. 

"  It's  a  pity  you  ever  got  spliced  onto  him.  You 
might  'a'  done  better,"  Bate  reminded  her  modestly. 

"  He  is  one  good  stiddy  man,"  rejoined  Cuby 
guardedly.  "  Scol'  an'  scol',  an'  make  a  sport  of  him, 
you  can  no  more  make  him  to  be  in  anger.  He  only 
smile,  lak  you  was  dirt.  He  is  stiddy,  savin'  his  money, 
all,  to  rent  the  Treet  place  for  me  and  him  to  make  a 
home.  But  he  is  not  as  I  lak ;  he  is  not  to  me,  any 
more,  amusin',  f  rien'ly ;  he  makes  himself  in  loaf  with 
183 


184  POWER    LOT 

all  droll  folks,  an'  the  more  they  be  lak  people  make  a 
laugh  at  them,  the  more  he  loafs  them.  He  is  become 
crack*  in  his  haid." 

"  He's  been  a  fool  ever  sence  /  first  seen  him,"  said 
Bate.  "  Well,  you're  tied  to  him,  so  there's  no  use 
talkin'." 

"  If  he  goes  clean  crezzy,"  said  Cuby,  "  I  shall  to 
get  quit  of  him." 

"  If  you  do  that,  I'll  marry  ye  myself,  the  way  ye 
ought  ter  be  married,  Cuby.  Ye  done  a  durn  foolish 
thing." 

"  He  was  not  so  when  I  firs'  seen  him.  How  is  any- 
body goin'  to  tell?  " 

"  You  could  'a'  depended  on  me  to  be  the  same  thing 
right  along." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,"  said  Cuby,  with  placid  and 
entirely  concealed  cynicism. 

They  both  sighed,  Cuby  in  a  delightfully  equivocal 
fashion,  Bate  with  an  active  sentiment  of  revenge. 

Meanwhile,  except  with  Bate  and  his  ilk,  Rob  was 
winning  a  reputation  for  engaging  sanity  of  spirit  and 
sterling  rudimentary  good  sense  in  his  faithfulness  to 
duty. 

Old  man  Trawles,  who  once  had  given  him  a 
wide  berth,  stopped  familiarly  by  the  fence  where  Rob 
was  hoeing. 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  remarked  the  devoted  young 
husbandman,  blithely  elevating  his  hat ;  for  Jacob 
Trawles  was  a  very  old  man. 

"  Mornin',"  responded  Jacob  listlessly,  and  fixed 
upon  Rob  his  brown,  melancholy,  rather  vacant  eyes ; 
"  you've  seen  better  days,  and  so  have  I." 


FRIENDLY  185 

"  Yes,"  said  Rob,  freely  giving  to  the  old  man  the 
serious  approbation  which  his  speech  called  for; 
"  I've  heard  how  you  used  to  make  money  back  in  the 
States." 

"Did  Car'line  tell  you?" 

"  Others  than  she  have  told  me,"  replied  Rob. 

Jacob  Trawles  looked  sentimentally  pleased;  he  very 
rarely  smiled.  "  I  am  not  penniless  yet,  by  any  means," 
he  averred.  He  took  off  his  ancient  tall  silk  hat  and 
stroked  it  with  a  seedy  black  broadcloth  sleeve.  He 
was  the  only  one  in  Power  Lot  who  wore  a  tall  silk  hat. 

"  *  Penniless ! '    I  should  say  not,"  responded  Rob. 

"  But  I'm  wifeless,"  said  old  man  Trawles,  again 
fixing  Rob  with  his  steady  gaze. 

"  How  long  has  Mrs.  Trawles  been  dead?  " 

"  I  have  had  two,"  answered  Jacob,  his  look  un- 
swerving. 

"  Three  times  for  luck,"  blurted  out  Rob  to  get  a 
little  relief  from  the  delicacy  of  the  situation.  "  Why 
don't  you  try  again?  " 

Jacob  held  out  his  hand.  Rob  kept  on  hoeing,  but 
there  was  no  ignoring  it;  the  hand  remained  out- 
stretched, so  Rob  stepped  up  and  took  it. 

"  I  want  to,"  said  Jacob.  "  I  want  to  get  married 
again.  You  and  I  are  in  the  same  boat.  You  want 
to  rent  Car'line  Treet's  place,  and  I  want  her  to  let  it 
and  come  over  to  my  house  as  my  third." 

Rob  made  a  faint  effort  at  withdrawing  his  hand, 
but  Jacob  only  clasped  it  tighter. 

"  You've  done  poorly  in  marrying,  Robert — poorly. 
You've  married  into  the  lowest  nest  anywheres  around. 
My  heart  aches  for  you,  Robert." 


186  POWER    LOT 

"  Oh,  the  devil,"  said  Rob.  "  Cuby's  unfortunate  in 
her  surroundings,  but  she  is  a  good  girl,  and  I  suppose 
she  is  my  wife.  We'll  say  no  ill  of  her,  sir,  if  you 
please." 

"  Fire !  Fire !  "  murmured  the  sentimental  Trawles ; 
"  you  are  full  of  fire.  I  am  naturally  fiery  myself,  but 
Gid  and  Nell  pester  me  so,  I  am  losing  all  my  will-power. 
They  are  set  against  my  having  a  third." 

Rob  made  another  cautious  attempt  to  take  away  his 
hand,  but  Jacob  Trawles  gripped  it  firmly. 

"  Have  you  ever  witnessed  the  efforts  which  my  grand- 
children, Gid  and  Nell,  make  to  detain  and  obstruct 
me,  when  I  start  out  with  the  intention  of  making  a 
neighborly  call  on  Car'line  Treet?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Rob,  with  extreme  sheepishness,  and  a 
lurking  grin  which  blushed  itself  out  in  good-nature, 
"  I've  seen  them  go  after  you  and  lead  you  back 
home." 

"  And  in  the  Winter,  they  go  off  to  the  distant  States, 
and  leave  me  alone — alone." 

Rob,  after  a  last  effort  to  free  himself,  patiently 
yielded  up  his  right  hand  until  such  time  as  Jacob 
Trawles  should  see  fit  to  release  it. 

"  Alone,"  repeated  Jacob,  his  melancholy  eyes,  un- 
winking, on  Rob's  face. 

"  Where  are  Nell  and  Gid,  now?  " 

"  Wild-strawberrying,  Robert,  wild-strawberrying, 
over  beyond  Joggins." 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  have  a  chance  now,  if  you  wish 
to  make  a  call." 

"  Yes,  Robert,  yes,  I  have  it  in  mind ;  but  we  won't 
be  premature,  we  will  wait  until  they  are  well  under  the 


FRIENDLY  187 

brow  of  the  hill.  Yes,  they  are  a  mongrel  lot,  I  fear, 
them  Tee-bos.  The  Stingarees  have  good  blood;  in 
fact,  remarkable.  Bate  and  his  father  were  dissipated, 
but  nevertheless  Mary  inherits  good  blood — grand. 
Virginia  Stafford  inherits  good  blood,  tho'  they  call 
her  'Byjo,'— grand  blood,  Robert." 

"  You  wouldn't  want  Mrs.  By  jo  for  your  third, 
though,  would  you  ?  "  Rob  inquired,  lending  himself  to 
curiosity,  since  his  fate  was  to  be  so  hopelessly  pinioned 
by  the  mild,  firm  hand  of  old  man  Trawles. 

"No.  Too  much  fire — too  much  fire.  At  my  age 
I  want  someone  I  can  control.  Car'line  is  easy  guided." 

"She  comes  of  good  blood,  doesn't  she?" 

"  Only  just  fair-to-middlin',  Robert,"  sighed  Jacob. 
"  But  she  is  fifty,  and  I  don't  choose  her  for  pedigree. 
I  choose  her  for  easy  guidance  of  her,  and  to  slicken 
up  my  house." 

Jacob  released  Rob's  hand,  and  walked  with  slow 
dignity  in  the  direction  of  Widow  Treet's  house. 

The  Widow  Treet  herself  had  seen  him  passing,  from 
the  window,  where  she  was  calling  on  Mrs.  By  jo ;  and 
with  a  lady-like  tranquillity  of  gait  she  now  issued 
forth,  and,  in  composed  view  of  his  retreating  form, 
stopped  to  talk  with  Rob. 

"Torment  his  old  pelt,"  said  she  gracefully,  "I 
believe  he's  goin'  over  to  set  with  me  a  spell.  Ye  see, 
Nell  and  Gid's  gone  strawberryin' ;  and  now  I  ask  you  ef 
old  man  Trawles  ain't  takin'  the  chance  to  sweel  out 
on  his  own  picnic  ?  " 

Rob  admired  Mrs.  Treet;  so  often  he  had  seen  her 
washing  dishes  or  scrubbing  floors  for  charity's  sake 
in  anybody's  house  which  trouble  or  need  had  visited. 


188  POWER    LOT 

And  aside  from  that,  nature  had  endowed  her  with 
girlish,  refined  features  and  hair  as  glossy  as  it  had 
been  when  she  was  twenty.  She  wore  a  boy's  cap — a  sou- 
venir from  an  advertising  agent,  with  "  Try  Old 
Honesty  Soda  "  largely  emblazoned  on  its  visor ;  and 
in  other  respects  she  maintained  a  jauntiness  of  bear- 
ing and  expression  unaffected  by  the  sobriety  of  middle 
age,  and  her  tongue  was  of  that  tender  insidiousness 
which  woos  the  listening  soul. 

"  He  is  going  over  to  sit  with  you  a  spell — if  you're 
at  home,"  said  Rob,  with  twinkling  eyes. 

Mrs.  Treet  winked  back  with  well-preserved  blue  eyes 
of  her  own. 

"  I  guess  he'll  keep  till  I  git  there,"  she  drawled. 

Rob  laughed  explosively.  The  exhilaration  of  the 
air  frequently  beset  him  to  untimely  mirth. 

"  Mr.  Trawles  seems  to  be  a  very  learned  man," 
he  added  gravely,  besieging  a  clump  of  weeds  with 
his  hoe. 

"  Ya-as,  oh,  ya-as,"  with  conscious  pride  went  on  the 
sweetly  meandering  tongue  of  Caroline  Treet.  "  Ya-as, 
he's  got  learnin',  an'  a  vary  kind  heart,  poor  old  man 
Trawles  has.  He  never  fishes  a  newspaper  out  o'  any 
old  ruck  down  to  the  wharf  but  what  he  hikes  over  to 
me,  soon  as  ever  he  gits  a  chanct,  and  lays  his  binockalers 
athwart  his  old  nose  an'  reels  it  off  to  me  tell  I  go 
plumb  asleep  in  my  chair.  Oh,  ya-as,  sometimes  when 
I'm  gappin'  like  a  chicken  with  the  pip  jest  afore  I 
close  my  eyes  an'  go  off,  I  feel  what  a  mercy  readin' 
is  to  them  that  has  allus  escaped  it.  An'  as  for  writin', 
I  know  I  haves  my  times  o'  bein'  lazy — we  all  have ;  but 
I  can  say  truly,  I  never  yet  set  an'  pampered  a  lazy 


FRIENDLY  189 

dispersition  long  enough  to  1'arn  to  write.  Whatever 
faults  they  lay  to  my  door,  nobody  's  ever  flung  that 
at  me,  an'  so  I  tell  you  frankly." 

Mrs.  Treet  disposed  herself  very  comfortably  on 
a  broken  rail,  and  taking  off  her  soda-advertisement 
cap  she  leisurely  fanned  her  fine  and  serious  features 
therewith. 

"  Mr.  Trawles  is  a  fine-looking  old  man,"  said  Rob. 

"  Ya-as,  oh,  ya-as.  He  got  slickened  up,  times  past, 
when  he  lived  to  the  States,  and  it  'ud  break  his  old 
heart  t'  have  any  o'  the  spruce  rubbed  off  'n  him,  the 
durned  old  dude,"  she  added  affectionately;  and  con- 
tinued : 

"  But  I  wish  he'd  lay  off  his  tormented  old  plug  hat 
along  from  the  middle  o'  June  to  the  fifteenth  o'  August, 
and  I've  told  him  so.  Even  sech  as  preach  the  gospil, 
I've  told  him,  don't  go  sweatin'  around  in  a  stove-pipe 
hat  in  dog  days ;  '  then  why  should  you  ?  '  says  I,  *  that 
never  sticks  your  nose  inside  a  meetin'  house,  ef  you  can 
help  it.'  I  don't  suppose  there's  another  livin'  soul  could 
'a'  brought  up  that  old  plug  hat  to  him  an'  thrun  it  in 
his  face  the  way  I  have." 

"  No ;  he  will  take  anything  from  you." 

"  Ya-as,"  said  Mrs.  Treet,  suddenly  retiring  to  a 
non-committal  tone ;  "  I've  allus  made  it  a  rule  to  be 
frien'ly  with  all  the  neighbors.  Some  has  their  tiffs 
and  their  mads,  an'  keep  it  up.  But  take  a  widow 
woman  like  I  be,  left  all  alone,  an'  two  boys,  mates  o' 
vessels,  an'  the  youngest  blacksmithin'  in  the  States, 
an'  one  girl  with  a  milliner  to  Boston,  an'  one  married 
down  to  Kasha  Valley ;  an'  when  you  think  o'  fire  or  be- 
ing took  sudden  in  the  night,  you  make  away  with  your 


190  POWER    LOT 

tiffs  an'  your  mads,  however  much  you  might  like  to 
show  'em  out,  an'  go  around  to  all  your  neighbors  alike, 
mean  or  decent,  all  an'  every,  without  throwin'  it  up  to 
their  faces,  skippin'  none." 

Fire  or  sudden  death  both  seemed  so  foreign  to  the 
probable  fate  of  Caroline  Treet,  Rob  questioned  within 
himself  the  tragic  nature  of  her  motives,  suspecting  that 
an  innocent  love  of  gossip  might  play  a  large  part 
in  the  cheerful  atmosphere  of  amity  which  she  sustained 
with  her  neighbors. 

But  he  liked  her.  He  liked  to  have  her  sit  on  the 
broken  rail  and  talk  to  him. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  said  straightforwardly,  "  that 
there  will  be  any  chance  of  my  renting  your  place  next 
winter,  Mrs.  Treet?" 

Mrs.  Treet  allowed  herself  to  become  absorbed  in  the 
view  about  her,  perfect  placidity  resting  upon  her  fea- 
tures. She  was  so  versatile  that  even  a  flowery  appre- 
ciation of  nature  was  but  one  item  in  the  rounded  sphere 
of  her  accomplishments. 

"  Lookin'  out  beyant,  there,  to  the  Gut  is  a  interestin' 
thing  to  them  that  has  artistry  in  their  feelin's,"  she 
observed  choicely.  "  Ya-as,  oh,  ya-as,  I  go  down  an' 
walk  along  shore  sometimes  for  nothin'  on  this  sinful 
'arth  save  an'  exceptin'  jest  only  to  look  at  the  aspects. 
Often,  as  them  can  tell  who's  seen  me  at  it,  I've  set  over 
there  in  my  winder  tell  nine  o'clock  at  night,  watchin' 
out  on  the  scene.  Many's  the  night  I've  set  in  per- 
ticaler,  study  in'  on  the  lights  beginnin'  their  night's  job 
over  on  Digby  shore;  oh,  my,  ya-as,  an'  the  tears  has 
come  to  my  eyes  as  I  watched  them  little  fleets  o'  vessels 
peltin'  in,  an'  seen  the  water  all  as  ef  she  was  bedaubed 


FRIENDLY  191 

with  somebody's  spillin'  their  paint  pots  onto  her  when 
the  sun  hove  out  er  sight." 

"  I've  often  noticed  you  looking  about  as  though  you 
loved  nature,"  Rob  assured  her,  with  a  more  than 
genial  smile. 

"  Oh  my,  ya-as ;  and  sometimes  I  don't  exac'ly  know 
whether  I'd  ought  to  go  an'  bury  myself  along  o*  an 
old  man.  I'm  young  myself,  an'  has  young  ambitions ; 
and  an  old  man,  potterin'  an'  hawkin'  around  the  house, 
though  his  house  is  better'n  mine,  I  'dmit,  an'  a  safe 
chimbley  an'  no  gap  in  the  shingles,  is  a  trial.  Then, 
ag'in,  I  thinks  how  I've  had  my  drill  with  one  man,  an' 
raised  my  f am'ly ;  an',  though  some  would  say  I  should 
be  elevatin'  myself,  old  man  Trawles  bein'  so  'ristocratic, 
yet,  when  you  consider  of  it  in  all  lights  sech  a  subject 
is  fit  to  be  considered  in,  you  come  to  just  this,  an' 
nothin'  more,  *  Him  who  sets  low,  sets  easy,'  as  the 
sayin'  is." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rob,  "  that  is  true.  Him  who  sets  low, 
sets  easy."  He  repeated  the  woman's  phrase  uncon- 
sciously as  though  it  were  the  pink  of  language  and 
approvedly  his  own  conviction. 

"  I'm  a-makin'  you  a  hat,"  said  Caroline  Treet,  and 
still  looked  tranquilly  off  to  the  aspects,  and  did  not 
blush. 

"  Making  me  a  hat!  "  exclaimed  Rob,  leaning,  ar- 
rested, on  his  hoe  handle,  his  marveling  soul  in  his  eyes. 

Caroline  dealt  out  the  good  news  sparsely,  in  a  way 
to  tease  rather  than  appease  the  awakened  appetite. 

"  Ya-as,  it's  a-goin'  to  be  a  dressy  one,  it's  goin'  to 
be  the  efFecks  an'  similarity  of  a  stove-pipe,  an'  have 
all  the  genteelness  of  it  without  no  cumbersomeness." 


192  POWER    LOT 

"What  is  it  made  of?" 

"  Straw.  The  recipy  has  been  kept  clost  in  our 
fam'ly  ever  sence  it  first  come  down.  Ya-as,  it's  made 
out  o'  the  spick-an'-span  o'  clean  artil'ry  straw." 

"  You  astonish  me,"  gasped  Rob. 

"  You  ain't  the  first,"  admitted  Caroline,  visibly 
revolving  on  her  tongue  the  delights  of  superior  em- 
prise, "  that's  been  knocked  all  of  a  heap  by  it.  The 
first  one  I  ever  made,  I  took  an'  bestowed  it  on  the 
minister — which  we  had  more  settled  in  them  days  than 
we  hav  now,  meetin'-goin'  in  them  days  not  bein'  hit 
or  miss  an'  choose  your  own  pleasure,  but  go  you  must ; 
an*  with  religion  the  same,  you  wan't  asked  whether 
you'd  have  it,  but  the  dose  was  giv'  to  you,  an'  down 
it  went,  an'  no  questions  raised  as  to  likin'  it  or  not 
likin'  it." 

"  So  you  gave  one  to  the  minister?  "  Rob  suggested, 
hanging  eagerly  upon  what  might  be  still  to  come. 

"  Ya-as,  oh  my,  ya-as,  the  first  I  ever  wove.  I  hadn't 
quite  got  my  bearin's,  though,  and  the  brim  was  wider 
an'  the  crown  run  up  more  to  a  p'int  than  what  the 
style  is,  or  ever  was;  but  ef  I  do  say  it,  an'  I  sh'd 
say  the  same  ef  I  was  to  be  called  to-night,  the'  was 
mighty  few  tag-ends  to  it,  for  a  beginner;  an'  I'd  set 
myself  so  clost  to  the  stent,  bein'  a  sperrited  girl,  besides, 
I  was  pretty  near  wore  out  with  it,  an'  nothin'  but  a 
frazzle  myself  when  I  handed  it  out  to  him." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  inquired  Rob  simply,  his  hoe 
lying  forgotten  at  his  side. 

"  He'd  never  had  many  gifts,  Power  Lot,  God  Help 
Us,  bein'  a  place  where  the  means  was  not  always  equal 
to  the  dispersitions,  an'  when  I  held  that  hat  out  to  him, 


FRIENDLY  193 

he  looked  as  though  he  couldn't  believe  a  word  of  it. 
He  swallered  an'  gapped,  an'  gapped  an'  swallered,  an' 
to  the  livin'  day  o'  my  death  I'll  never  forgit  what  he 
said." 

"What  did  he  say?  "  Rob  made  out  to  ask,  in  holy 
attention. 

"  He  stammered  an'  he  stuttered.  Ef  ever  I  seen 
a  man  overcome,  I  seen  one  that  day.  '  How  much — 
how  much  do  I  owe  you?'  he  says.  *  It's  all  paid  for,' 
says  I,  as  namby-pamby  as  a  squab  on  a  nest  o'  moultin' 
eggs.  *  How — how  paid  for?  '  says  he.  Then  what 
did  I  do,  'stead  o'  settin'  my  cap  for  him,  the  way  some 
was  doin',  who,  ef  the  world  is  to  be  believed,  their  looks 
was  no  better  'n  mine,  but  I  ransacked  around  in  the  lit- 
tle pea-hen  of  a  brain  girls  has  bestowed  on  'em  at  that 
age,  an'  anchored  up  by  some  drippin's  o'  religion  I'd 
heard  to  meet'n',  an'  says  I,  as  softy  as  a  mess  o'  sqush 
in  the  middle  o'  a  lily  pond,  '  "  Free  Grace  "  has  paid 
for  it,'  says  I.  Did  you  ever?  "  added  Caroline;  "  may- 
be that  don't  make  you  sick,  but  it  does  me." 

Rob  stood  shaking  as  with  ague,  tears  of  exquisite 
joy  rolling  down  his  cheeks. 

"  I  don't  wonder  ye've  got  a  fit,"  observed  Caroline, 
rapidly  fanning  her  own  nauseated  features  with  the 
emblematic  cap  on  which  "  Try  Old  Honesty  Soda" 
made  a  startling  appeal  to  the  needs  of  the  situation. 
"  Some  says  they  sees  their  lost  youth  beckonin'  of  'em 
back.  Considerin*  the  pea-hen  brains  of  them  years, 
ef  mine  beckoned  to  me  I  shouldn't  go,  that's  all." 
She  spoke  with  the  simple  quietness  of  resolution,  and 
continued,  in  gentle  strain  : 

"  I'm  a-knittin'  you  some  socks,  too.     I've  seen  your 


194  POWER    LOT 

wash  out  on  the  line,  and  tho'  I  don't  say  it  to  shame 
ye,  yet  the  truth  remains  the  same,  that  some  things  is 
past  mendin'.  Boughten  hose  is  nothin5  but  a  man 
cheat,  anyway.  I've  wrought  up  somethin'  that  '11  stand 
by  ye,  as  my  man  could  testify  ef  he  was  here  instead  of 
havin'  lain  his  earthly  garments  by.  The  yarn  is  *  Old 
Reliable  Ironsides  '  brand,  same  I've  been  a-knittin'  on 
these  twenty  years,  fetched  over  from  Waldeck  through 
Jim,  an'  bought  of  old  Jo  Playmus  without  no  break  or 
disagreement  between  us  all  these  years  that  be." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  have  friends,"  said  Rob, 
and  though  his  face  was  red  and  his  voice  trembled, 
yet  the  feeling  with  which  he  spoke  was  very  real. 

"  Ya-as,  oh,  ya-as,"  continued  Caroline,  like  a  lady, 
to  cover  his  embarrassment.  "  Many's  the  time  when  Jo 
Playmus  has  been  over  here  fishin'  an'  slung  feet  along 
o'  me  an'  my  man,  under  the  table.  Ef  there  was  an 
apple,  or  any  other  pie  stuff  to  be  raised,  green  or 
winter-proof,  accordin'  to  the  season,  I  made  'em  a  pie. 
Once  he  giv'  me  the  caution  at  eleven  o'clock  him  and 
Jo  'ud  be  in  to  dinner  at  twelve.  Don't  say  a  word. 
I  couldn't  'a'  ketched  my  own  feet,  the  way  I  fired  'em 
'round.  I  rigged  up  that  pie  and  had  him  in  the  oven 
by  eight  minutes  past  'leven,  and  by  forty  after  I  had 
her  out." 

Rob  questioned  with  a  puzzled  interested  face  of 
inquiry,  and  no  guile. 

"  What  made  the  pie  a  male  when  it  went  into  the 
oven,  and  a  female  when  it  came  out?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Caroline  Treet,  with  an 
equally  guileless  manner  of  resignment.  "  God  A'mighty 
fashioned  the  langwidge  o'  men,  an'  I've  allus  had  to 


FRIENDLY  195 

take  it  as  I  found  it.  But  I'm  thankful  to  say  the's 
so  many  words  in  the  dictionary  layin'  around  loose, 
you  can  pick  an'  choose  without  no  fear  o'  gittin'  in 
over  your  head.  Some  has  hard  work  to  find  words,  I 
know ;  but  as  my  father  used  to  say,  *  Langwidge  allus 
comes  easy  to  Car'line ;  it  'ud  be  better  for  her  ef  she 
was  put  to  more  pains  to  ackire  it.'  But  what's  the  use 
in  talkin'?  We  can't  deny  our  gif's  no  more  than  we 
can  our  failin's." 

Rob  assented  with  a  look  of  unblemished  sympathy; 
and  the  broaching  of  an  entirely  new  theme  was  excused 
by  the  thorough  loyalty  of  the  emotion  which  shone  in 
his  face. 

"  I  should  like  to  rent  your  house,  by  and  by,"  he 
said,  "  for  one  thing,  because  I  admire  you  so  much ; 
and  it  might  be  a  mutual  accommodation,  if  Mr.  Trawles 
is  so  fortunate  as  to  win  you?  " 

"  Oh,  my,  ya-as,  my  man  was  a  good  man,"  murmured 
the  ever  adroit  and  seaworthy  Caroline,  "  a  good  kind 
man  he  was.  I  never  see  the  tide  makin'  in  through  the 
Gut  but  I  think  o'  the  shortness  o'  life ;  an'  be  we  ready  ? 
Be  I?  Be  you?  as  the  hymn  says;  and  I  allus  try  to 
go  to  meet'n  down  to  the  River  ef  the'  is  any.  I'm 
sorry  I  didn't  git  some  kind  o'  a  sensible  holt  onto 
religion  when  I  was  younger;  an'  then  ag'in  I  think, 
present  time  is  the  best  time,  after  all,  an'  I'm  cert'nly 
more  able  to  meet  up  with  an'  examine  doctrines  now 
than  when  I  didn't  know  no  more  'n  a  weaklin'  goose 
moltin'  out  her  pinfeathers." 

"Captain  Treet  was  lost  at  sea,  I've  heard?"  said 
Rob,  and  with  the  words  as  he  faced  Caroline,  he  lifted 
his  hat  from  his  damp  curls. 


196  POWER   LOT 

"  He  was  an  able  seaman,"  she  made  proud  rejoinder, 
"  and  a  great  hand  to  cruise.  Oh  my,  ya-as,  he  cruised 
as  fur  as  the  fardest,  an'  his  talk  was  interestin'.  Take 
what  he'd  met  up  with,  an'  his  natterally  seaman  on- 
christian  ways  o'  tellin'  it,  I  could  set  by  the  hour,  with 
my  feet  hove  into  the  oven  door  on  a  cold  day,  to  hear 
his  gab.  Ef  he  was  here  now,  you  wouldn't  like  nothin' 
better  'n  to  hear  him  reel  it  off.  Ya-as,  he's  gone,  the 
way  we  all  must  go,  hauled  up  to  our  last  final  restin' 
place." 

Rob  thought  of  Mrs.  Stingaree  and  her  getting  up 
and  going  forth,  and  his  incipient  notions  of  immortality 
found  vent  to  the  intended  comfort  of  Caroline  Treet's 
soul.  "  I  don't  believe  they  go  there,"  he  said.  "  I 
believe,  when  they  get  quit  of  it  all  here  they  go  some- 
where else.  That's  what  I  believe." 

"  What  you  drempt  that  time  poor  Mis'  Stingaree 
died  seems  to  have  made  dreadful  fast  on  to  you," 
answered  Mrs.  Treet,  with  an  intimation  in  her  own  tone 
that  the  thought  of  continued  existence  was  a  normal 
and  plausible  one.  "  So  fur  as  that  is  concerned, 
Robert,  your  beliefs  an'  my  beliefs  is  jest  as  firm-mated 
as  Virginny  Stafford's  oxen,  an'  goes  calmly  on  their 
way.  I  lost  two  children  when  they  was  babies.  They 
was  jest  a-gittin'  into  the  habit  o'  smilin';  an'  I  don't 
mind  sayin'  that  my  thoughts  o'  them  is  livin'  thoughts. 
Ef  I  git  low  by  day  and  imagines  of  'em  dead,  the 
good  God  sends  'em  down  at  night,  smilin'  and  dimplin* 
and  beckonin'  of  me,  as  plain  to  say  as  ef  the  words 
was  spoke,  '  All  is  well,  all  is  well ;  never  be  afeard  to 
come.  We  couldn't  smile  at  you  like  we're  a-smilin' 
ef  all  wasn't  well.' " 


FRIENDLY  197 

Caroline  Treet  drew  a  work-worn,  muscular  hand 
across  the  misty  violet  of  her  eyes,  thrust  her  cap  on  to 
her  head,  and  rose. 

"  Ef  thar  ain't  that  old  dromodile,"  she  said  indul- 
gently, indicating  Jacob  Trawles,  who  had  started  on 
a  dissatisfied  return  from  his  quest  at  her  door.  "  Wai', 
I  got  to  make  out  thar'  an'  head  him  off.  He's  a  kind 
old  creatur',  old  man  Trawles  is ;  and  I  allus  keep  peace 
with  my  neighbors.  I  shouldn't  wonder,  when  Nell  an' 
Gid  cruises  off  this  Fall  ef  he'd  be  glad  to  git  settled  in 
his  own  ways  with  his  flour  and  pork  barrel  stowed 
in  and  the  hams  in  the  downstairs  closet  before  the 
line-storm." 

Jacob  Trawles  beamed  happily  as  he  saw  Mrs.  Treet 
approaching.  Rob  watched  them  with  an  honest  smile 
in  his  kind  blue  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MES.     BYJO'S     BOAEDER 

ONE  day  as  Rob  leaned  on  his  hoe  handle  the  thought 
of  being  bound  came  to  him  all  the  fiercer  for  the  wild 
freedom  of  the  landscape.  A  hearty  criminal  in  prison 
could  interest  himself  in  making  his  escape ;  but  to  stay, 
all  unlaureled  and  uncheered,  for  the  tedious  self- 
imposed  task  of  "  fighting  beasts  "  and  proving  him- 
self a  man ;  in  this  business,  a  youth,  with  whom  the 
sun  of  joy  is  strong  and  the  wind  of  adventure  sweet, 
sometimes  loses  heart.  While  Rob's  tireless  muscles 
were  developing  the  texture  of  whipcord,  his  brown 
cheeks  were  growing  hollow. 

In  his  bleak  humility  and  loneliness,  any  kindly  word 
from  a  fellow-mortal,  any  confidence  or  appeal  from  a 
human  heart,  came  to  him  like  wine  and  food. 

"  Rob,  Rob  Hilton !  Come  you  over  here,  please. 
I  want  ye,"  called  the  Widow  By  jo,  swinging  her  own 
hoe  aloft  in  beckoning  and  mandatory  fashion.  Now 
Rob,  of  his  soul's  volition,  esteemed  the  Widow  Byjo 
only  next  to  Mrs.  Treet,  and  he  hastened  over. 

"  Look  here,  I'm  put  out.  Can  you  work  in  my 
patch  here  the  rest  of  the  day,  Rob?  I'm  in  for  a  tejus 
job,  by  Jo!  Mary  Stingaree  has  got  a  letter  that  Jim 
Turbine  brought  over  to  her,  and  I've  got  to  take  a 
city  tourist  to  board.  I'd  rather  have  the  devil,  by  Jo ! 


MRS.    BYJO'S    BOARDER  199 

I  could  put  him  to  some  mush,  in  the  kitchen.  Jim's 
going  to  bring  him  over  this  afternoon." 

"  By  gracious !  I've  never  seen  the  devil,"  said  Rob 
showing  his  white  teeth  broadly,  "  and  I'm  glad  of  the 
invitation  to  be  right  here  on  the  premises.  You  can 
count  on  me." 

Mrs.  Byjo,  deftly,  with  the  tip  of  her  hoe  handle, 
gave  his  hat  a  prey  to  the  winds.  Having  recovered 
it,  Rob  acknowledged  the  choiceness  of  these  social 
amenities  with  a  gay  laugh. 

"  Wit  is  all  right  in  its  place,"  she  advised  him  seri- 
ously, "  but  I'm  in  no  position  to  have  it  played  off  on 
me  to-day.  What  I  need  is  help." 

"  I  didn't  think  he'd  come  for  you  so  soon,"  said 
Rob.  "  Don't  you  fret.  You're  good  for  fifty  years 
more,  and  you'll  be  strong  enough  to  knock  him  out 
even  then." 

A  smile  struggled  through  the  gravity  of  Captain 
By  jo's  features.  When  she  gave  a  smile  it  was  without 
reservation. 

"  Don't  you  get  to  thinking  you're  growin'  such  a 
smart  stock  of  brains,"  she  advised  him,  "  for  your  face 
don't  bear  you  out  in  it."  Then  she  sighed,  and  her 
burden  returned  to  her.  "  You  know  him,  so  they  say ; 
knew  him  in  New  York.  He's  a  big  gun,  so  they  say, 
big  in  his  line ;  and  his  name  is  Doctor  Margate." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  What  I  say,  and  I'm  stumped,  by  Jo !  I  can  till 
the  fields,  self-respecting,  but  I've  never  been  brought 
down  to  boardin'  tourists.  But  there !  Mary,  she  asked 
it,  and  it's  got  to  be.  I'd  do  more  than  that  for  her. 
So  I've  got  to  swaller  my  spleen  and  go  to  work  inside 


200  POWER    LOT 

swcepin'  and  bakin'.  So  there,  as  I'm  a  woman  what 
is  a  woman,  I've  heaved  my  last  sigh  over  it." 

"Do  you  mean  that  Doctor  Margate  is  coming  up 
here?  " 

"  I  do.  You  don't  appear  to  like  him,"  said  Mrs. 
By  jo,  commenting  on  Rob's  trembling  lips  and  pale 
manner  of  excitement. 

"  Why,  I've  written  him — in  the  past — four  times, 
and  he  never  answered  me;  written  him  urgently  on 
most  important  matters,  and  he  never  answered  me. 
I  didn't  know  but  he  was  dead." 

"  He  may  be  dead  to  you  and  me,  but  he  ain't  dead 
to  Mary  Stingaree,  I  reckon,"  said  Mrs.  By  jo  with 
meaning.  "  Not  that  Mary's  confided  any  courting 
about  it;  but  she  says  he's  wore  out  with  a  tremenjus 
practice  an'  wants  a  sniff  o'  air  among  us  Injuns  in  No- 
man's  Land.  But  he's  a  widow  like  the  rest  of  us,  and 
his  daughter  was  Mary's  mate,  and  puttin'  two  and 
two  together,  I  infer  that  Mary  is  some  acquainted  with 
him;  it  may  be  courting,  it  may  not  be;  that  ain't  my 
business,  but  there's  a  lot  that  is;  will  you  take  my  place 
in  the  fields?  I'll  pay  ye  thirty  cents  an  hour." 

"  Why,  yes,  I'll  go  right  to  work,"  said  Rob,  with 
exceeding  quietness — "  right  to  work." 

There  was  always  that — work,  to  pay  his  board; 
work,  to  put  by  something  for  the  rent  of  a  home; 
work  for  this,  work  for  that ;  whatever  his  perplexity 
or  sorrow  there  was  always  work  to  be  done — work, 
work,  work. 

When  Rob  went  home  to  dinner  he  regarded  Mary 
without  any  special  curiosity.  He  had  ceased  to  blush 
in  her  presence;  his  eyes,  of  late,  had  met  hers  very 


MRS.    BYJO'S    BOARDER  201 

frankly;  but  what,  to  the  people  round  about,  were 
laughing  eyes,  to  her  were  dreary ;  they  were  ever  grave 
and  stricken  when  they  met  hers.  She  wondered,  and 
sought  to  win  him  once  more  to  a  friendly  confidence. 

"  Doctor  Margate  is  coming  to  Power  Lot  to  stay 
a  while  at  Mrs.  Stafford's,  Robert.  Perhaps  she  told 
you?" 

"  Yes.  Is  he  coming  to  see  you,  or  to  find  out  about 
me?  What  is  his  object  in  coming  'way  off  here?  " 

Mary  herself  colored  a  little  under  the  steady  frank- 
ness of  those  dreary  eyes ;  she  noticed  with  a  twinge  of 
pathos  the  hollowness  of  his  tanned  cheeks. 

"  There  is  his  letter,"  she  replied,  handing  it  out. 
"  He  gives  simply  as  his  motive  the  desire  for  a  change 
of  scene  and  air.  I  think  his  visit  concerns  you.  I 
have  written  him,  always,  very  kindly  " — her  eyes  went 
down ;  Rob  was  now  so  strong  and  virile  a  creature  in 
appearance  for  this  indulgent  sort  of  treatment — "  very 
encouragingly,  about  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Rob  drily,  rising.  "  I  trust  you 
did  not  have  to  strain  a  point  in  order  to  be  kind." 

She  looked  after  him  with  a  new  emotion  of  surprise. 
He  walked  carefully  across  the  clean  floor  in  his 
slippered  feet,  sat  down  on  the  doorstep  and  put  on  his 
boots  as  usual,  and  tramped  methodically  over  to  Mrs. 
By  jo's  to  his  labors. 

It  fell  to  my  share,  as  "  Jim,"  of  course,  to  fetch 
Doctor  Margate  over  from  Waldeck  station  in  my  boat. 
He  was  not  so  old  a  man  as  I  had  thought;  he  did  not 
seem  old,  and  since  he  was  going  up  tp  see  Mary,  I 
should  have  hated  him  for  being  so  straight  and  grand, 
if  there  hadn't  been  a  look  in  his  eyes  like  a  tired  dog 


202  POWER    LOT 

sent  out,  after  a  shipwreck,  to  bring  another  body  in. 
I  had  a  dog  like  that  once,  and  here  were  his  old, 
staunch,  dying  eyes  looking  at  me  again  out  of  this 
man's  head.  I  didn't  trust  him,  though;  people  may 
prove  very  different,  said  I  to  myself,  from  what  their 
headlights  indicate.  He  had  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole 
when  I  first  saw  him  on  the  station  platform,  and  I 
knew  what  that  meant;  he  was  after  Mary,  whether 
she  knew  it  or  not;  and  the  conviction  struck  me  hard 
as  we  sailed  over  that  what  he  wanted  he  would  get. 

He  understood  all  about  a  boat ;  he  knew  everything ; 
he  had  the  gift  o'  gab  so  that  even  the  gulls  followed 
him  to  listen.  I'd  heard  he  was  worn  out,  but  only  for 
his  dog-eyes  he  looked  as  strong  as  Samson,  with  his 
ruddy  cheeks  and  iron-gray  hair,  and  his  hands  were 
almost  as  sinewy  as  mine. 

I  had  a  buggy  team  engaged  to  bring  him  up  the 
hill,  and  he  never  shrunk,  as  most  people  do,  from  driv- 
ing up  that  hill  for  the  first  time,  for  fear  things  '11 
start  backwards.  No,  he  kept  looking  back  and  ex- 
patiating on  the  view,  and  asked  me  to  stop  a  minute 
once  in  the  most  breakneck  place  of  all,  where  I  had  to 
turn  the  old  horse  sidewise  to  give  her  any  footing  at 
all,  and  he  looked  off,  saying,  "  Superb !  Glorious !  " 

I  got  so  sick  of  it,  I  slewed  the  old  horse  back  a  little 
with  a  sly  taut  on  the  reins,  to  try  to  scare  my  slick 
passenger  and  shut  off  his  "  glorious "  wind,  but  he 
only  said  coolly : 

"  Always  slack  on  the  lines  when  a  horse  is  climbing, 
my  friend,"  says  he,  and  I  felt  several  kinds  of  an  un- 
necessary fool. 

We  came  up  on  to  the  plains  and  steered  up  the  lane. 


MRS.    BYJO'S    BOARDER  203 

In  a  field  over  to  the  right  was  Rob  Hilton  work- 
ing away  in  his  old  faded  shirtsleeves  and  beclodded 
boots. 

"  Why— why,  that  looks  like  Robert  Hilton,"  said  the 
doctor;  "yes,  that  must  be  Rob  off  there.  What — 
what  has  he  on  his  head?  " 

"  One  of  the  hats  Caroline  Treet  makes." 

"  She  must  be  a  very  gifted  person." 

"  She  is  all  of  that." 

"  Is  it  necessary  for  him  to  wear  it?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  she  heard  there  was  company  com- 
ing, and  hurried  up  to  get  it  done,  and  brought  it  over 
to  him ;  and  he  put  it  on  so  as  not  to  hurt  her  feelings. 
He's  capable  o'  doin'  just  such  things  as  that,  Rob  is," 
I  said  bitterly.  For  the  old  boy  sitting  beside  me  was  so 
slick.  If  a  man  has  had  advantages — all  prodded  with 
the  world's  information  and  greased  with  culture  till  it 
fairly  shows — he  doesn't  want  to  shake  'em  around 
too  careless  before  folks  that  haven't  had  'em.  Rob 
was  different.  He'd  had  advantages,  but  he  could  cover 
'em  all  up  in  a  minute  so  as  to  be  one  with  you  till  you'd 
never  know  but  what  he  had  been  born,  bred,  and  raised 
in  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us. 

"  Is  he  like  that?  I  thought  it  might  prove  so. 
Good ! "  The  doctor's  tired  eyes  lightened  in  a  way 
I  did  not  understand.  "  I  am  glad  if  he  can  be  like 
that,"  he  repeated. 

I  sort  of  gnashed  my  teeth  internally. 

"  The  sun's  pretty  hot  to  swelter  around  under  to- 
day," I  said.  "  Sitting  here  and  taking  the  breeze  ain't 
like  standing  up  to  bone-labor." 

"  He  has  changed,"  said  the  doctor,  not  minding  me ; 


204  POWER    LOT 

"  even  from  here  one  can  see  that  he  has  grown  as 
strong  as  an  ox." 

"He  works  like  one,"  I  said;  "he's  the  steadiest 
drudge  anywheres  around." 

That  triumphant  light  kept  waking  in  his  eyes;  and 
as  for  me,  I  could  have  tumbled  him  out  of  the  buggy 
with  a  good  will. 

"  That  is  Miss  Stingaree's  house,  I  suppose,  near 
where  Rob  Hilton  is  working?  "  he  said. 

"No,"  said  I;  "that's  Captain  Byjo's— Mrs.  Staf- 
ford's, I  mean.  Rob  is  her  hired  man  just  now;  he's 
working  out — twenty  cents  an  hour ;  " — I  had  not  yet 
heard  of  the  recent  raise  in  his  wages — "  toil  and  sweat 
is  his  portion.  The  Stingaree  house  is  over  there  on 
the  other  side  o'  the  lane." 

Mary  came  to  the  door  as  we  drove  up,  and  it  went 
to  my  heart  like  cold  ashes,  the  job  of  bringing  that 
fine  old  fellow  there,  to  confab  and  talk  high-flown 
language  along  o'  her.  My  sympathies  just  fairly 
gushed  out  all  of  a  sudden,  toward  poor  Rob  Hilton, 
beating  away  at  his  work  in  the  potato  field.  "  He  used 
to  be  teasing  me  to  sail  him  over  to  Waldeck,"  thought 
I  to  myself.  "  Well,  he  shall  go  to  Waldeck,  and  have 
a  good  time  too,  and  I'll  keep  company  with  him  as 
merry  as  he  likes — consistent  with  keeping  out  of  the 
rum-fiend's  clutches." 

I  got  rid  of  Doctor  Margate  as  brusquely  as  I  could 
at  Mary's  door,  and  acknowledged  her  smile  of  greet- 
ing with  a  short  nod.  Then  I  went  over  to  Captain 
Byjo's  and  deposited  the  great  man's  heavy  valise,  like 
any  truckman ;  and  coming  out,  I  stopped  in  the  field 
where  Rob  was. 


MRS.    BYJO'S    BOARDER  205 

He  lifted  up  his  head,  and  bit  his  lip;  and — yes — 
there  were  the  cruellest  kind  of  tears  in  his  strained 
eyes — the  unshed  kind ;  he  could  not  seem  to  speak ;  his 
mouth  quivered. 

"  Hello,  old  man,"  said  I,  and  I  could  not  help  putting 
an  arm  along  his  shoulder.  I'd  never  been  familiar  with 
him,  but  I  felt  familiar  with  him,  then  and  forever. 
"  Bear  up,"  says  I,  "  you  and  I  got  to  bear  up,  an' 
steer  right  on.  I  know  the  tune,  same  as  you,"  says  I, 
"  but  the  seas  ain't  goin5  to  swaller  us ;  we'll  beat  the 
seas.  D — n  it  all,  we  got  to  steer  right  on,"  says  I. 
"  I'm  goin'  to,  an'  you're  as  much  of  a  man  as  I  am,  any 
day." 

"  You  don't  think  that,"  says  he ;  and  being  all  of 
a  sudden  familiar  with  him  forever  and  forever,  I  read 
his  soul. 

"  I  do  mean  it,"  says  I.  "  Don't  you  give  me  the 
lie !  If  ever  a  man  was  made  able  to  steer  right  on,  it's 
you,  Rob  Hilton.  If  you  don't  know  it  yet,  /  know  it, 
by  all  that's  holy !  Come,  let's  shake." 

"  All  right,"  says  he ;  and  it  may  be  a  big  word,  con- 
siderin'  the  occasion,  but  I  felt  immortal  strength  along 
o'  the  heart-break  in  the  grip  o'  the  poor  boy's  hand. 

"  Now  look  here,"  says  I ;  "  say,  when  your  first  patch 
o'  potatoes  is  ready  to  dig,  what  do  you  say  to  a  sail 
with  me  over  to  Waldeck?  I  know  somebody  there 
that  '11  give  you  a  fancy  price  for  'em.  We'll  load  'em 
on  to  the  boat,  and  if  you  will  help  me  a  little  with  some 
other  truck  I've  promised  to  take  over,  the  business 
shan't  cost  you  a  penny,  and  I'll  be  glad  of  your 
company." 

"  You  said  once,"  said  Rob,  with  a  streak  of  sun- 


206  POWER    LOT 

shine  on  his  face,  "  when  I  asked  you  to  take  me  over — 
that  you  '  chose  your  own  company.'  " 

"  Ain't  I  choosin'  my  own  company?  "  said  I.  "  I'd 
rather  have  you  sail  with  me — honest,  Rob — than  any 
other  man  I  ever  met  anywheres,  not  exceptin'  Power 
Lot,  God  Help  Us." 

Any  other  man.  I  did  not  know  then  that  Rob  had 
heard  Mary  Stingaree  that  moonlight  evening,  when 
she  said  slightingly  that  he  "was  not  a  man  at  all." 
I  did  not  know  why  in  thunder  such  a  high  light  blazed 
from  his  face  at  my  words.  A  sail  to  Waldeck  to  sell 
potatoes  wouldn't  seem  much  of  an  ambition  to  any- 
one who  had  once  possessed  what  Rob  Hilton  was 
born  heir  to.  But  there,  thought  I,  he's  been  shut  off 
here  so  long,  the  prospect  of  the  sail  is  like  wine  to 
him. 

His  shoulders  were  set  mighty  square,  considering 
what  seemed  the  childishness  of  his  emotion,  and  the  way 
he  gripped  my  hand  proved  that  the  old  salt  ham  he'd 
played  with  in  the  Stingaree  shed  must  have  suffered 
some  severities  before  he  got  through  with  it. 

"  I  won't  forget  this,  Jim,"  says  he ;  and  he  added 
with  regular  eagerness,  as  I  turned  away,  "  I  think  my 
first  crop  will  be  ready  in  about  three  weeks,  now." 

"  I'm  your  man,"  says  I,  "  when  you're  ready." 

I  forgot  that  it  was  customary  to  drive  down  the 
hill  by  the  Joggins  road,  and  I  took  the  steep  way,  never 
heeding.  The  old  horse  condoned  my  f  orgetf  ulness  with 
perfect  wisdom  of  his  own.  The  descent  was  an  enter- 
prise that  required  care,  and  in  spite  of  my  pricking 
and  urging,  he  did  most  certainly  take  entirely  his  own 
time  for  the  job. 


MRS.    BYJO'S    BOARDER  207 

Captain  Belcher  and  another  compatriot  saluted  my 
ultimate  landing  on  level  soil. 

"  I've  won,"  said  Belcher. 

"What  about?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  Ed  Nedds  an'  me  was  bettin',  for  the  last 
three  or  four  hours,  as  to  whether  ye  was  goin'  up  the 
hill  or  down  it.  I  took  the  caution  to  jedge  by  lan'- 
marks,  an'  I  bet  '  down,'  an'  here  ye  be,  Capting.  I 
consider  that  I  ain't  wasted  no  time  watchin'  of  ye, 
neither,  for  it  was  an  interestin'  inch-wormin'  a  sight 
as  I  ever  see." 


CHAPTER    XV 

SHE    OP    THE    WHIP-HAND 

MARY  STINGAREE  and  the  doctor  sat  out  on  the  porch 
together ;  vines  hid  its  rotting  timbers ;  beauty  cov- 
ered all  defects  during  the  brief  marvelously  bright 
summer  in  this  northern  clime.  The  little  porch  faced 
the  grandeur  of  the  scene. 

"  I  could  not  write  it  to  you,"  said  Mary.  "  It 
seemed  too  dreadful;  he  was  doing  so  well,  until  they 
enticed  him  down  there,  and  he  fell — he  drank  again — 
and — was  married;  trapped  into  it,  I  understand,  but 
married,  to  a  little  French-Canadian  girl  down  there 
at  the  River." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  that  rumor.  The  man  who  brought  me 
up  here — James  Turbine — seems  to  think  it  possible 
there  might  be  some  mistake  about  that.  He  says  the 
truth  concerning  that  affair  all  lies  with  a  certain  '  Cap- 
tain Belcher,'  if  he  could  only  be  made  to  speak  the 
truth.  The  few  other  participants,  including  Rob  him- 
self, were  too  muddled  to  take  away  any  impressions 
of  the  scene  that  would  serve  as  reliable  statistics." 

"  Surely  the  girl  herself  would  know." 

"  She  is  as  courageous  as  Captain  Belcher,  I  am  told. 
What  she  affirms,  that  will  she  swear  to,  and  blench  not, 
neither  be  confused." 

"  It  is  possible  then,  you  mean,  that  Rob  was  not 
married  to  her?" 

808 


SHE    OF    THE    WHIP-HAND  209 

"  *  Jim '  Turbine  certainly  intimated  that  such  a 
doubt  was  admissible." 

"  But  Rob  himself  virtually  acknowledges  it,  and — 
though  he  has  never  gone  to  live  with  them  down  there 
— he  is  working  with  all  his  might  to  make  a  home  for 
her." 

"  I  shall  have  the  mystery  solved  and  the  truth 
brought  to  light.  Everything  I  hear,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  that  one  fall,  seems  creditable  to  Rob.  It. was  a 
case  of  *  kill  or  cure,' — and  it  begins  to  look  like  '  cure.' 
He  was  doomed,  body  and  soul,  in  the  life  he  was 
pursuing.  He  was  never  sober  long  enough  to  look 
comprehensively  and  connectedly  into  his  own  affairs  or 
assume  any  worthy  responsibility  concerning  them.  To 
fill  his  pockets  with  cash  and  carouse  it  away,  was  the 
end  and  aim  of  his  bright  being.  His  father  was  a 
pleasure-lover  too,  but  he  had  a  keen  business  sense. 
The  property  is  safely  and  conservatively  invested, 
and  is  waxing  greater  every  day  of  Rob's  life ;  and  he, 
I  believe  now,  will  grow  to  his  responsibilities.  A — a 
woman  whom  he  had  learned  to  adore — a  good  woman 
— a  strong  woman — could  pilot  him  through,  I  believe." 

Mary,  too,  saw  in  the  great  man's  eyes  the  exhaustion 
of  a  spiritual  fight,  the  self-immolation  of  the  dog  who 
strikes  out  once  more  to  save. 

"  I  hope  that  all  present  complications  may  clear 
for  poor  Rob's  sake,"  she  said,  "  and  that  he  may  find 
such  a  woman." 

"He  has  not  lived  under  the  same  roof  with  you, 
these  past  months,"  declared  the  man,  with  an  emotion 
not  to  be  mistaken,  "  without  suffering,  climbing,  hop- 
ing; without  realizing  to  the  depths  of  his  soul  who 


210  POWER    LOT 

that  woman  is  that  absorbs  him,  exalts  him,  stings  him 
to  despair." 

He  rose  and  stood  for  a  moment  with  half-averted 
face,  one  arm  uplifted  to  a  vine-clad  pillar  of  the 
porch. 

"  I  am  forced  to  remember  " — Mary  spoke  with  an 
intensity  that  had  driven  the  color  from  her  lips — 
"  that  my  own  father  was  an  inebriate,  and  that  my 
brother  is  one.  I  do  not  entertain  the  thoughts  that 
some  entertain.  My  life,  though  stainless  itself  I 
know,  lies  by  way  of  sacrifice,  but  not  by  way  of  in- 
creasing, perhaps,  the  sum  of  evil." 

"  Nonsense  " — he  faced  her — "  I  am  a  physician,  as 
you  know.  I  believe  no  man  living  has  had  a  wider  ex- 
perience at  least,  of  the  human  constitution  and  its 
limitations,  and  its  possibilities.  I  tell  you  your  asser- 
tion is  nonsense.  A  man  can  grow  out  of  evil,  a  man 
can  change  his  nature,  in  weeks,  months,  in  a  day,  in 
an  hour.  God  lives  and  works  by  ceaseless  '  miracles.' 
New  growth,  new  life.  Nature  proves  it.  Heredity  is 
the  bugbear  of  all  the  old  Back-Numbers  in  existence. 
God  laughs  that  theory  to  scorn,  if  we  only  had  the  eyes 
to  see,  and  the  courage  to  rise  and  live." 

Mary,  long  quietly  rusting  at  Power  Lot,  God  Help 
Us,  shrank  a  little  from  this  startling  mental  antag- 
onist. She  was  quite  ready  to  turn  the  flow  of  the 
theme  to  lightness. 

A  smile  dawned  in  her  eyes. 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  well  aware  that  I  am  an  old 
*  Back-Number.'  " 

"  Nonsense,  again."  The  truth  of  him  would  not  be 
withstood.  "  I  love  you  till  my  heart  is  torn  past  con- 


SHE   OF    THE    WHIP-HAND  211 

trol.  Will  you  answer  me?  "  he  continued  gently.  "  I 
have  asked  you  this  question  before.  You  know  my  life, 
my  reputation — celebrity,  I  may  say  without  vainglory, 
since  I  want  to  present  this  case  as  alluringly  as  possi- 
ble. My  fortune  is  large,  my  character  well  proven. 
Mary — will  you  marry  me?  " 

"  No,  oh  no.    You  are  cruel.    Do  not  ask  me  that." 
"  You  do  not  love  me  in  the  least  like  that?  " 
"  No,  oh  no.     Why,  when  one  is  in  straits,  do  peo- 
ple think  only  of  themselves  ?  " 

"Why,  indeed?  Well,  I  will  think  of  myself  no 
more."  He  returned  to  his  chair,  easily  resting  his 
arm  on  the  chair-arm,  and  his  iron-gray  head  on  his 
hand;  but  the  side  of  his  face  toward  her  was  plain  to 
view,  strong,  tender,  his  eyes  looking  out  seaward.  A 
qualm  went  to  her  heart,  that  ached  with  admiration 
and  with  pity.  He  would  have  renewed  the  bright  sun 
of  his  youth,  but  his  sorrow  was  above  all  things  con- 
siderate and  brave. 

"  I  did  not  mean  that,"  she  stammered.  "  You  are 
unselfish  and  great.  But  I — I  think  you  mistake  my 
power;  my  power  over  poor  Rob,  for  instance.  He  is 
interesting ;  he  is  fascinating  " — she  smiled — "  in  one 
way,  I  admit,  to  a  mind  that  has  had  so  many  stern 
realities  to  deal  with  as  I  have,  he  is  so  easily  made 
joyous.  Whatever  his  mood,  he  has  a  child's  heart; 
though  he  has  lived  in  the  midst  of  sophistication  and 
excess,  he  has  kept  a  certain  bright  soul  of  his  own, 
unblemished.  I  cannot  express  it  in  any  better  way, 
but  you  understand.  I  thought  at  one  time  that  I  had 
influence  over  him — unconsciously,  in  the  sense  that  it 
was  more,  much  more,  than  I  desired  to  have " 


212  POWER    LOT 

The  color  swept  over  her  face. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Doctor  Margate,  "  perfectly." 

"  You  may  rest  assured  that  now,  though  he  is  al- 
ways courteous,  he  quite  avoids  me,"  she  continued. 
"  The  utmost  of  my  feeling  toward  him  has  been  such 
— such,  I  should  imagine,  as  a  mother  might  feel  toward 
an — an  engaging,  but  unfortunate,  child." 

"  That  feeling,  even  unmodified,  in  its  very  essence, 
goes  a  long  way,"  replied  the  man,  still  gazing  calmly 
seaward ;  "  farther  than  you  know,  or  dream  of." 

"  But,"  Mary  made  haste  to  continue,  "  there  is  an 
actual  tie  involving  a  weaker  appeal  still,  far  weaker, 
in  the  case  of  my  poor  brother.  I  have  not  much  op- 
portunity for  the  studying  of  joy  in  any  nature." 

Bate,  to  her  intense  mortification,  was  making  him- 
self heard  in  the  kitchen  in  an  angry  disapproval  of 
her  temporary  withdrawal  from  active  affairs  and  his 
delayed  supper. 

Doctor  Margate  divined  much.  "  Poor  girl — poor 
child,"  he  said ;  "  let  me  help  you  with  that  burden, 
with  any  burden,  just  as  your  old  friend.  Upon  my 
soul,  I  will  be  content  if  you  will  only  let  me  help  you." 

He  reached  out  his  hand  and  laid  it  lightly,  though 
with  a  gesture  of  infinite  protection,  upon  hers. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Rob  appeared.  He  had 
seen  Bate  enter  the  house  with  that  aggressive  manner 
of  importance  which  indicated  an  inward  replenishing 
from  some  vinous  resource  at  the  River.  Perished,  in 
that  instant,  Rob's  distaste  for  meeting  Doctor  Mar- 
gate— in  the  thought  that  Mary  "  might  need  him." 
So  he  marched  in,  giving  the  noisy  Bate  a  look  of  stern 
meaning  on  his  way  through  the  house  to  the  porch 


SHE    OF    THE    WHIP-HAND  213 

door.  Their  backs  were  turned  to  him,  but  he  heard  the 
low  pleading  of  Doctor  Margate's  voice  and  saw  the 
hand  laid  protectingly  upon  hers. 

A  cold  hand  wrung  his  vitals  dry  of  all  sensation 
for  a  moment.  Then  he  caught  his  breath  and  ad- 
vanced to  the  doctor  with  a  cordiality  so  correct  and 
firm  that  it  was  visibly  altogether  Spartan.  The  good 
man's  pleased  exclamations  at  his  health,  his  tan,  his 
vigor,  hardly  pierced  his  consciousness.  He  knew  that 
Mary  was  in  a  dilemma,  that  she  would  have  been  pleased 
to  invite  the  doctor  to  supper,  that  it  was  impossible 
on  account  of  Bate. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Rob,  with  a  splendid  affectation 
of  social  ease,  "  I  come  as  an  emissary  from  Mrs. 
Stafford,  who  is  anxious  to  see  her  guest,  and  who  has 
her  supper  all  prepared.  May  I  escort  you  over, 
Doctor,  and  introduce  you  to  your  hostess?  " 

"  Thank  you.  Good — I'll  go  at  once.  But  see 
here,  boy — why,  you're  grand,"  he  exclaimed,  holding 
Rob  off.  "  Why,  I'd  give  my  money  and  my  Sunday 
coat  to  look  as  you  do.  Is  this  Rob  Hilton,  or  Saint 
Michael,  Saint  George,  and  Saint  Glory  stepping  out 
of  a  picture  frame?  Bless  you,  lad,  I'm  more  glad 
than  you  know  to  see  you  again." 

Rob  acknowledged  these  hearty  encomiums  but  dully. 
What  did  it  all  signify  to  him?  Mary  was  indeed  for- 
ever lost  to  him.  When  he  came  back  to  his  own  meal 
he  heard  Bate  even  from  a  distance,  pursuing  a  harsh, 
bumptious,  brutal  discourse  with  Mary. 

"  See  here,  for  a  girl  that  sets  up  to  be  as  good  as 
you  be,  you  have  a  mighty  suspicious  lot  o'  men  hangin' 
'round  ye.  I  wouldn't  put  on  sanctimony,  an*  then 


214  POWER    LOT 

act  like  the  devil,  ef  I  was  you.  Ye'd  better  be  honest, 
't  least.  Who  was  that  cussid  old  dude  settin'  out  thar' 
on  the  porch  with  ye,  anyway?  I  wanted  ter  mow  out 
in  front  thar',  an'  ye  had  ter  go  an'  plank  yerselves 
down  thar',  shameless  critturs." 

It  came  to  Rob,  in  a  hot  wave  of  recollection,  t  his  was 
the  being  with  whom  he  had  aimed  to  affiliate  on  first 
arriving  at  Power  Lot,  to  whom  he  had  appealed  for  a 
mutual  clandestine  procuring  of  the  drink  that  had 
been  a  curse  to  them  both.  Shame  and  humiliation 
actually  scorched  him  at  this  remembrance  of  the  devils 
which  had  so  vilely  possessed  him.  He  listened  trem- 
bling, too,  with  anger. 

"  Bate,"  said  Mary  very  calmly,  "  if  you  ever  speak 
to  me  in  that  way  again,  I  will  appeal  to  Mrs.  Stafford, 
whom  you  have  more  reason  than  one  to  fear.  I  know 
that  you  are  hardly  responsible,  and  I  am  patient,  but 
you  must  be  decent,  do  you  hear  me?  " 

"  A  nice  sister  I  got,"  snarled  Bate.  "  Bad  herself, 
an*  schemin'  all  the  time  to  git  me  into  trouble." 

"  Oh,  but  how  I  have  worked  and  sacrificed  myself 
to  keep  you  out  of  trouble,"  cried  Mary  passionately, 
at  last,  "  and  you  malign  and  insult  me." 

"  Yer  can't  prove  I  took  old  By  jo's  money,"  asserted 
Bate  stolidly,  but  Rob  detected  the  fear  in  his  tone; 
"  it's  yer  d — d  suspicions.  She  prob'ly  hid  it  away, 
an'  then  laid  the  loss  of  it  onto  other  folks." 

"  We  won't  discuss  a  matter  of  which  we  both  thor- 
oughly understand  the  truth ;  but  if  you  speak  brutally 
to  me  again,  I  will  appeal  to  her  to  let  you  suffer  the 
consequences  from  which  we've  so  long  tried  to  shield 
you." 


SHE    OF    THE    WHIP-HAND  215 

"Ye  will,    will  ye?  ye    d — d  sneakin',  meddlin " 

Through  the  half -opened  door  Rob,  unbelieving-,  saw 
Bate  advancing  upon  Mary  with  upraised  fists.  He 
sprang  like  a  lion ;  it  was  the  work  of  but  one  instant 
of  ecstatic  indignation,  and  Bate  lay  stretched  on  the 
kitchen  floor  at  his  feet.  Before  he  could  stagger  up 
the  avenging  hand  had  felled  him  again. 

"  You  would  strike  her,  would  you — you  would  strike 
her,"  Rob  hissed,  sobbed,  through  his  teeth;  "  you  would 
strike  her.  Oh,  my  God." 

Bate,  half  rising,  reached  for  a  knife  that  lay  on 
the  table.  Rob  kicked  it  fiercely  from  his  hand,  and 
seizing  a  rope  that  hung  from  a  nail  on  the  wall,  and 
kneeling  on  the  infuriated  wretch,  he  tied  him  hand  and 
foot.  Imprecations,  vile  accusations  were  hurled  at 
them  both.  Mary  stood  by,  white  as  if  laid  in  her 
grave. 

"  There,"  gasped  Rob,  rising  from  his  knees,  "  let 
him  lie  there — till  he's  safe.  Never  mind  what  he  says, 
never  mind ;  it's  of  no  consequence  what  he  says." 

He  thought  that  Mary  would  fall.  "  Come,  Miss 
Stingaree,"  he  said  naturally,  persuasively,  as  if  she 
were  the  child,  and  he  seeking  to  restore  her  to  a  normal 
realization  of  existence  again ;  "  come,  we  must  get  some 
supper.  Will  you  help  me?  Bate  will  consent  to  be- 
have himself  and  get  up  and  eat  with  us,  by  and  by. 
Come,  show  me  what  to  do." 

They  made  but  a  sad  and  poor  pretense  at  eating. 
Mary  placed  Bate's  supper  to  keep  it  warm,  and  went 
over  to  him  where  he  lay. 

"  Bate,"  she  said  sorrowfully,  "  won't  you  try  to 
think  for  a  moment  how  I  have  kept  you  free,  how  I 


216  POWER    LOT 

have  tried  to  help  you  always?  I  want  to  keep  you 
free  and  to  help  you  now ;  but  you  must  not  lie  about 
people,  nor  abuse  and  strike  them.  You  will  promise 
not  to  do  that?  you  will  swear  by  the  memory  of  our 
poor  mother?  Oh,  Bate,  my  brother." 

The  pleading  in  her  voice  choked  her  utterance,  tears 
welled  in  her  eyes  as  she  entreated  him.  Bate  gave  a 
long  angry  sneer. 

"  Bate,"  said  Rob,  his  lips  tightening  with  pain  as 
he  watched  the  extremity  of  Mary's  grief,  he  also  under- 
taking to  plead,  for  her  sake,  "  I  couldn't  see  you  strike 
her;  sure,  you  would  have  killed  yourself  afterward  if 
you  had  done  such  a  thing.  Come,  promise  what  she 
asks,  for  your  own  sake.  I  will  untie  you.  Let's  be 
friends,  let's  try  to  do  better,  let's  help  each  other  on. 
I've  a  quick  temper  myself,  I  know." 

Another  long  snort  of  scorn  from  Bate.  But  just  at 
this  moment  Mrs.  By  jo  stepped  in  briskly. 

"  Well,"  she  declared,  "  if  a  good  appetite  is  a  com- 
pliment to  a  provider,  my  boarder  has  set  me  up,  and 
no  mistake.  I  know  when  people  eat  to  be  polite,  and 
when  they  eat  because  they  want  to.  He  apologized 
once  or  twice.  *  Go  right  ahead,'  says  I,  '  I'm  as  able- 
bodied  at  the  mixin'  bowl  as  I  am  at  the  plow.'  He's 
finished,  at  last,  and  gone  off  gappin'  at  the  view.  You'd 
think  this  was  the  only  real  up-and-down,  helter-skelter, 
far-reachin'  piece  o'  lan'scape  on  the  sphere  by  the  way 
any  strange-comer  stan's  an'  opens  his  mouth  at  it — 
Why,  what's  the  matter?  "  she  exclaimed,  discovering 
Bate  stretched  on  the  floor  in  a  dimming  corner  of  the 
room. 

"  What  ye  been  doing,  Bate? "  she  questioned  the 


SHE    OF    THE    WHIP-HAND  217 

supine  one  with  paralyzing  force  of  directness.  "  I 
know.  Ye've  been  tryin'  to  abuse  somebody — to  harm 
and  hurt  somebody ;  and  ye  promised  me  straight,  when 
I  let  ye  off,  ye  promised  me  ye  wouldn't." 

Mrs.  By  jo  usually  carried  her  whip  with  her.  She 
had  it  now,  and  she  brought  the  lash  around  with  a 
sharp  crack. 

"  'Fraid  to  let  him  up,  are  you,  Mary  and  Rob  ?  " 
she  inquired  staunchly ;  "  well,  7  ain't  afraid  to  let  him 
up."  She  stepped  bravely  forth  and  untied  the  knots 
that  bound  him,  then  she  swung  back  and  gave  her 
lash  a  clear  and  resounding  snap  in  the  air,  as  it  were, 
by  way  of  experiment.  Bate  did  not  stir. 

"  Get  up,  by  Jo,"  she  commanded  him,  with  the  utmost 
cheerfulness,  "  or  I'll  thrash  ye  layin'  down." 

To  the  astonishment  of  Mary  and  Rob,  Bate  rose 
to  his  feet,  the  whole  contour  of  his  face  and  shoulders 
being  that  of  sheepish  obedience. 

"Now,  do  ye  promise,"  she  adjured  him,  "and 
promise  to  keep,  this  time?  Sw'ar  it  then,  sw'ar  it  by 
the  knockin's  over  at  Spook  House.  Disobey  them,  and 
see  what'll  come  to  ye." 

Bate,  very  pale,  nodded  a  subdued  acquiescence,  "  I 
sw'ar." 

"  There's  such  folks  as  Bate  in  this  world,"  continued 
Mrs.  Byjo,  lapsing  from  the  sterner  measures  of  her 
course  to  philosophize  frankly  and  helpfully  in  the 
downcast  face  of  her  pupil.  "  Some  says  there's  not. 
Some  talk  about  everlastin'  lovin'-kindness  and  patience ; 
and  you've  showed  it,  Mary  Stingaree.  You've  showed 
it  to  Bate  Stingaree." 

She  pointed  the  handle  of  her  whip  from  one  to  the 


218  POWER    LOT 

other  as  a  simple  and  emphatic  manner  of  elucidating 
her  theme. 

"  Now,  what  Bate  Stingaree  needs,  it  appears,  ain't 
lovin'-kindness,  for  it's  been  tried  on  him,  and  he  ain't 
got  sense  enough  to  know  it  when  he  sees  it;  he  thinks 
lovin'-kindness  is  a  coward  and  afraid  of  him.  What 
Bate  Stingaree  needs  and  admires,  by  Jo,  is  the  whip." 
She  gave  hers  another  sonorous  free-hearted  crack  in 
the  air. 

"  Bate  Stingaree's  got  to  be  born  again,  like  the  man 
up  the  tree,  't  the  ministers  preach  about.  I've  got  my 
opinions,  and  I  believe  he'll  have  his  chance,  and  ef  not 
in  this  world  then  in  some  world  he  will  git  born  again 
till  he  turns  out  decent.  Meanwhiles  what  he  needs 
an'  asks  for  in  his  very  soul,  poor  feller,  is  the  whip. 
And,  Bate,"  she  added  with  perfect  friendliness  of  sym- 
pathy, "I've  got  some  for  ye,  whenever  ye  feel  a 
hankerin'  after  it,  and  bear  you  well  in  mind,  young 
feller,  I've  got  the  whip-hand  o'  ye." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MRS.    PROUTY    OF    PROUTY's    NECK 

IT  was  Rob's  custom  to  work  in  the  long,  long  twilight 
after  supper.  From  six  o'  the  clock  to  ten  he  made 
another  day.  This  evening  he  did  not  change  once 
more  into  his  old  clothes  and  go  into  the  field ;  his  heart 
was  too  restless.  Doctor  Margate  would  soon  appear 
for  another  chat  with  Mary,  and  he,  Rob,  would  be  in 
the  way.  Bate  had  devoured  his  supper  contemptuously 
and  gone  the  way  of  the  River.  Rob  sought  to  still 
the  tumult  in  his  brain  by  a  solitary  stroll  of  his  own 
along  the  heights. 

Passing  through  the  dooryarcl  he  espied  the  astound- 
ing vision  of  a  choice — an  especially  choice — cigar 
lying  in  the  grass.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  stooped 
and  picked  it  up ;  it  was  one  that  had  been  quenched 
almost  as  soon  as  lighted,  gallantly  tossed  away  by  the 
doctor  when  he  had  first  met  Mary  on  the  porch.  Rob 
observed  how  intact  it  was,  put  it  sweetly  to  his  nostrils ; 
ah,  no  molasses  and  ginger  in  this  product.  He  made 
a  mouthpiece  of  a  bit  of  paper,  inserted  the  cigar,  and 
puffed  rapturously  as  he  tramped  on.  Velvet  reclining 
chairs,  blazing  chandeliers,  soft-footed  attendants,  the 
clink  of  iced  champagne — all  swayed  his  senses  once 
more  in  seductive  memory,  with  the  fumes  of  that  deli- 
cious cigar.  A  hearty  voice  broke  the  spell. 

"  Hold  on,  Rob,  I  can't  keep  up  with  you."  Doctor 
219 


220  POWER    LOT 

Margate  overtook  him,  breathing  rather  heavily,  and 
laid  a  hand  on  Rob's  shoulder. 

"  Ah,  my  boy,  not  so  very  long  ago  you  could  not 
keep  up  with  me.  And,  now — but  even  in  my  heyday 
I  had  not  your  physique.  Ah,  but  you're  to  be  envied — 
envied."  The  doctor  spoke  with  exuberant  frankness, 
his  hand  still  resting  on  Rob's  shoulder. 

"  That  " — thought  Rob — "  is  his  considerate  way  of 
appearing  not  to  have  noticed  the  fact  that  I'm  smok- 
ing his  discarded  cigar."  It  was  such  a  bald  confession 
of  penury,  of  classical  beggardom,  of  hopeless,  weary, 
utter  resignation,  to  smoke  a  cigar  that  one  has 
picked  up  in  the  yard.  Rob's  face  had  been  dyed  with 
blushes.  But  after  the  first  hot  wave,  despair  makes 
a  man  fearless  and  bold ;  and  he  said : 

"  You  are  the  one  to  be  envied,  Doctor  Margate — if 
you  are  engaged  to  Mary  Stingaree." 

"  But  I'm  not,  Rob.  Let's  walk  on  a  little.  I  am 
not.  I  asked  her,  but  she  would  not  have  me." 

Rob  said  nothing.  Wonder,  infinite  relief,  the  pang 
of  hopeless  love  on  his  own  part,  pity  and  a  sudden  mood 
of  valiant  championship  for  the  doctor;  all  these 
possessed  him. 

"  Life  is  no  tangle  here,  is  it,  Rob?  "  said  the  great 
man,  looking  away  to  the  scene  spread  before  them. 
"  Plain  toil,  plain  struggle,  the  river,  the  basin,  then 
the  tremendous  tides  out  yonder ; — what  is  that  passage 
there?  What  do  you  call  it?  " 

"  The  Gut." 

"  Aye,  out  through  the  Gut  at  last,  into  the  open — 
and,  faith,  but  God  works  well.  We'll  believe  that, 
though  the  cup  we  long  for  gets  dashed  from  our  lips." 


MRS.  PROUTY  OF  PROUTY'S  NECK  221 

He  stood  with  bared  head,  and  seemed  to  forget  where 
he  stood  as  he  gazed.  Bob  looked  at  the  familiar  gray 
head  and  rapt  face.  It  appeared  that  Rob  himself  was 
seeing  visions.  The  gaudy  tinsel  of  the  cigar  laden  at- 
mosphere faded  out  of  sight  and  sound,  and  cathedral 
organs  of  the  long-ago  pealed  through  his  senses  with 
revelations,  with  aspirations,  dim  to  him  once,  divinely 
clear  to  him  in  this  instant ; — and  life  was  not  much, 
and  death  was  not  much,  but  only  to  play  true,  that 
was  all. 

"  You  have  doubted  me  a  good  deal,  I  suppose, 
Robert?" 

Rob  woke  from  his  trance  and  met  the  doctor  face 
to  face. 

"  No,  never — your  honesty.  I  can  remember  still 
how  my  father  used  to  talk  about  you.  But  I've  written 
you  and  never  received  any  answer,  and  I  do  not  under- 
stand. It  is  very  strange,  it  seems  to  me,  that  a  fortune 
such  as  my  father  left  should  go  to  the  dogs  so  com- 
pletely and  suddenly  as  mine  did.  What  was  the  mat- 
ter ?  Is  not  there  anything  to  be  saved  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal  to  be  saved — a  great  deal,  Rob, 
my  boy.  Go  back  to  New  York  to-morrow,  if  you  want 
to,  and  find  out  for  yourself  whether  those  who  have 
the  stewardship  have  been  faithful." 

Rob  gasped.  His  own  revulsion  of  feeling  staggered 
him.  Mary — never  to  see  her  more.  Mary — left  in 
the  house  with  Bate,  unprotected.  The  sea,  the  land, 
even  his  crop  of  potatoes — the  wondrous  product  at 
last  of  his  painful  toils — the  very  air  he  breathed,  all 
seemed  dear  to  him  of  a  sudden,  and  he  spoke  impul- 
sively, almost  fiercely,  words  strange  to  his  own  ears. 


222  POWER   LOT 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  back,"  he  said. 

"I  understand,  Rob.  I  would  not  go  back  yet,  i( 
I  were  you." 

So  absorbed  were  the  two  in  their  own  thoughts 
they  did  not  realize  that  they  were  passing  Caroline 
Treet's  house.  She,  however,  had  heard  of  the  cele- 
brated man's  arrival  at  Power  Lot;  and  Rob  saw  her 
standing  in  her  own  porch  door  and  beckoning  with  a 
black  kid-gloved  hand. 

"  Look  out,  she's  got  on  her  black  kid  gloves ;  she's 
going  to  make  a  set  at  you,  Doctor,"  he  murmured 
low. 

"  She — who?  You  amaze  me — that  so  handsome  a. 
woman  should  be  put  to  it  to  pluck  adorers  from  a 
foreign  tree.  Who  is  she?  " 

"  Come  in,"  called  Caroline  smoothly ;  "  friends 
known  and  unknown,  come  right  into  the  Room." 

For,  at  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  they  called  the 
parlor  or  place  of  state  simply  the  Room,  and  to  enter 
it  was,  in  itself,  to  fulfill  the  holiest  of  social  obliga- 
tions. Not  every  family  had  a  "  room,"  but  as  for 
Caroline  Treet,  hers  contained  more  bouquets  from  the 
grass  of  forgotten  harvests,  and  mortuary  wreaths 
under  arched  glass,  and  portraits,  framed  in  sea-spoil, 
of  those  gone  before,  than,  perhaps,  any  other  house 
in  Power  Lot,  and  though  she  was  considered  every- 
where as  more  of  a  kind-hearted  than  a  vain  woman, 
yet  she  could  not  quite  banish  from  her  manner,  espe- 
cially when  in  the  very  presence  of  these  relics,  a 
certain  palmy  and  serene  consciousness  of  elegance. 

"  Be  pleased  to  seat  yourselves,  friends  known  and 
unknown."  Caroline  repeated  the  happy  phrase  with  a 


MRS.  PROUTY  OF  PROUTY'S  NECK  223 

soft  emphasis  on  the  "  unknown,"  and  the  doctor's  heart 
might  be  supposed  to  thrill;  but  he  had  a  less  senti- 
mental emergency  to  reckon  with,  for  the  "  room  "  be- 
ing shut  dark,  and  his  glasses  in  his  vest  pocket,  he  sat 
down  hopefully  on  what  proved  to  be  a  very  stout 
woman,  who  repudiated  him  with  the  angry  lash  of  her 
arms  and  a  scream  of  unflattering  disgust. 

"  May  God  forgive  me,"  drawled  Caroline,  at  once 
letting  in  some  light  through  a  shutter ;  "  fade  as  fade 
may,  let's  see  what's  going  on  here  amongst  ourselves." 
On  discovering  the  doctor  standing  dismayed  and 
immovable  in  the  safe  center  of  the  room,  she  sought 
to  reassure  him  through  the  methods  of  a  formal  pre- 
sentation: 

"Let  me  introduce  you  to  Mis'  Prouty  of  Prouty's 
Neck." 

Mrs.  Prouty  of  Prouty's  Neck  observed  the  doctor's 
low  and  remorseful  bow  without  much  concern  either 
way.  Her  mind,  it  was  plain,  was  absorbed  in  another 
grievance.  The  light  through  the  shutters  revealed 
also  two  boys,  respectively  seven  and  eight  years  of  age, 
their  faces  likewise  distorted  with  misery. 

"  They  been  talkin'  all  winter  an'  all  spring  about 
comin'  over  to  the  Baptis'  4  cherry-carnival,'  an'  I  made 
'em  some  decent  clo's,  the  Lord  knows  how,  an'  fetched 
'em  over  an'  paid  fifteen  cents  apiece  for  'em,  like  all 
the  rest — that  filled  up  to  the  brim  an'  runnin'  over — 
an'  after  all  this  how-de-do  an'  takin'-on  that's  nearly 
wore  me  out " — expounded  Mrs.  Prouty,  the  indignant 
mother — "  them  little  sneaks  pimped  up  all  of  a  sudden 
without  no  warnin',  like  a  colicky  hummin'  bird,  an* 
never  et  five  cents  worth,  the  two  on  'em  together." 


224.  POWER    LOT 

"  We  thought  as  how  there'd  be  cherries  to  a  cherry 
carnival,"  complained  the  older  boy  loudly,  taking 
courage  from  the  extended  dimensions  of  his  audi- 
ence. 

"  An'  when  it  was  explained  to  you  that  this  wan't  the 
bearin'-year  f'r  cherries,  you  little  slouches  put  yer- 
selves  in  rebellion  ag'in  the  Lord  on  high,  'stead  o'  con- 
dimentin'  down  all  the  good  vittles  ye  could  hold  like  the 
rest  on  us  with  sweet  pickles  an'  be  thankful." 

"  The  pickles  they  giv'  me  wan't  sweet,"  declared 
the  boy,  in  tones  of  cold  and  resentful  recollection. 

"  Hear  to  him !  "  cried  the  exasperated  Mrs.  Prouty. 

"  'Sides,  we  et  more  bread  'n  meat  'n  anybody  else 
thar',"  now  spake  the  younger,  rising  stoutly  to  his 
brother's  defense. 

"  Bread  and  meat ! "  sneered  Mrs  Prouty ;  "  makin' 
wild  hoodoos  o'  yerselves,  as  though  ye'd  never  seen 
Christian  dainties  afore  an'  was  scared  of  'em." 

"  I  wan't  afraid,"  maintained  the  elder.  "  I  tasted 
onto  ev'ry  kind  o'  pie  an'  cake  the'  was." 

"  An'  why  didn't  ye  eat  'em?  " 

"  'Cos,"  he  explained,  without  any  nice  reservations, 
"  they  tasted  jest  like  your  ha'r  ile  smells,  Ma." 

"  Vanilla's  a  mighty  expensive  spice,  you  little  wild 
b'ar's  cub." 

"  I  can't  help  that,  Ma,"  he  answered,  having  now 
grown  quite  bold ;  "  it  makes  me  want  ter  vomick." 

"  Wai',  when  an  air  of  wind  comes  up  your  father  '11 
be  over  to  sail  us  home,  an'  thar'  you'll  stay  f'r  all  o' 
any  carnival  you'll  ever  go  to  ag'in." 

The  boy,  now  verging  on  the  bounds  of  the  "  saucy," 
was  about  to  express,  to  his  mother's  wrath,  his  com- 


MRS.  PROUTY  OF  PROUTY'S  NECK  225 

plete  satisfaction  with  this  dictum,  when  Doctor  Mar- 
gate himself  interposed. 

"  I — I  came  to  this  beautiful  country,  hoping  to  find 
cherries,  too,"  he  advised  the  boys,  and  they  read  him 
literally,  nor  realized  the  depth  of  pathos  in  the  great 
man's  confession ;  "  but  for  me  too,  I  find  it  is  not  a 
cherry-bearing  year.  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  gather 
many  more  cherries.  But  I  like  little  boys  who  prefer 
bread  and  meat  to  cake;  such  good  sense  deserves  its 
reward,  and  I  wish  your  good  mother  would  take  this 
slight  appreciation  of  my  regard  for  you  and  spend 
it  for  you  as  she  deems  wisest." 

It  was  a  five-dollar  note,  and  the  disaffected  family 
clasped  each  other's  hands  and  beamed  as  one.  "  That 
pays  for  not  having  them  fill  up,  doesn't  it?  "  the  doctor 
inquired  of  the  mother  in  his  simple  way,  that  was  on  a 
rational  and  unassuming  level  with  the  crying  needs  of 
any  situation. 

"  A  few  minutes  ago,"  replied  Mrs.  Prouty,  "  I  really 
didn't  know  what  I  come  for.  But  the  guidin'-hand  was 
after  me  same  as  usual.  I  was  meant  to  come,  an'  I 
come,  an'  now  I  see  why  I  come." 

She  clasped  the  greatly  augmented  treasures  of  her 
purse  firmly. 

"  And  now,  Mis'  Prouty,"  said  Mrs.  Treet  hospitably, 
"  you'll  take  off  your  things,  bein'  far  away  an'  seldom 
seen,  an'  make  yourself  to  home?  " 

"  No,"  responded  Mrs.  Prouty  gracefully,  "  I'll  set 
here  jest  as  I  be  an'  pray  for  an  air  o'  wind.  I  was 
never  one  that  felt  easy  settin'  'round  away  from  home. 
But  I'm  glad  to  see  ye,  Car'line.  What's  this  I  hear 
about  old  man  Trawles  ?  " 


226  POWER    LOT 

The  question  was  so  uncompromisingly  put  it  reflected 
the  terrors  of  a  court  of  law,  and  the  whole  company 
appeared  startled. 

Except  Caroline. 

"  Oh  my,  ya-as,  what's  this  I  hear,  an'  what's  that 
I  hear?  "  she  murmured  discursively.  "  Somebody  on 
ev'ry  hand  is  allus  hearin'  somethin'.  The  neighbors 
drops  in  here  often,  an'  allus  welcome  received  an'  their 
yarns  listened  to,  whatsoever.  Cap'n  Belcher  was 
passin'  this  mornin'  an'  reeled  me  off  a  yarn,  that,  ef 
it's  true,  some  folks  in  an'  around'  Power  Lot,  God  Help 
Us,  is  ignorant  enough  to  need  missionaries  sent  to  'em, 
an'  no  more  so  amongst  them  that  fries  in  the  sun 
naked  on  the  isles  o'  the  sea.  What  think  you  ?  " 

They  were  all  too  interested  to  push  their  inquiries 
further  than  by  the  appeal  of  open  mouths.  Only  the 
doctor  said  kindly: 

"What  was  his  yarn?" 

Caroline  blushed;  her  attitude  toward  the  doctor 
seemed  to  be  eminently  that  of  approval,  and  the  rest 
realized  that  for  all  practical  purposes  her  audience 
was  an  audience  of  one. 

"  You  don't  know  old  Tim  Tibbits,  't  's  kind  o'  half 
baked — in  the  line  o'  bein'  silly,  I  mean — an'  allus 
aroun'  in  the  woods,  huntin'  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  the  doctor  earnestly ;  "  I  do  not 
know  him  yet" 

"  Wai',  perhaps  you  won't  be  so  anxious  to  make 
his  acquaintance  after  you  hear  what  was  told  to  me. 
Cap'n  Belcher  swore  it  was  true  in  ev'ry  line  an'  precep' 
of  it,  an'  I  leave  him  to  his  Judge,  only  tellin'  of  it  as 
he  told  me.  'T  seems,  one  o'  these  'ere  religious  agents, 


MRS.  PROUTY  OF  PROUTY'S  NECK  227 

Church  o'  England  this  one  must  'a'  been — wal',  he  lit 
onto  this  region,  prospectin'  around,  with  his  arms 
full  o'  prayer  an'  hymnal  books ;  an'  what  should  he  do, 
to  get  a  sample  o'  the  folks  'round  here,  but  run  afoul, 
first  thing,  o'  old  Tim  Tibbits  hailin'  out  o'  the  bresh 
with  his  gun  slung  over  his  shoulder. 

"  *  Good-mornin',  sir,'  says  the  man,  to  Tim ;  '  are 
there  any  'Piscopalians  round  here?'  says  he;  'an' 
whar',  ef  you  please,  be  they,  sir?  '  says  he. 

"  *  'Piscopalians?  '  says  old  Tim  Tibbits — who's  allus 
got  to  be  good-natered  an'  oblige  everybody,  whether 
he  knows  what  they  mean  or  not.  *  'Piscopalians? — 
wal',  now  I  think  on  it,'  says  he,  scratchin'  his  old  fool 
of  a  head,  c  I  did  see  somethin'  queer  over  thar'  by  tKe 
aidge  o'  Fin'ly's  woods  this  mornin','  says  he,  '  but  I 
didn't  fire.  Yes,'  says  he,  '  now  I  think  on  it,  that  must 
'a'  been  it,'  says  he,  an'  grinned  at  him  all  over  in  his 
obligin'  way ;  '  but  I  was  goin'  down  to  the  store  to  sell 
my  skunks'  fur,  an'  I  never  stopped  to  fire,'  says  he; 
'  why,  do  you  want  one  ?  '  says  he. 

"  '  No,'  says  the  man  an'  walked  on,  an'  wobbled  his 
coat  tails  direc'  right  out  o'  sight  an'  hearin'  o'  the 
whole  place,  never  stoppin'  to  exchange  a  word  with 
somebody  't  was  more  'n  half-witted,  so  as  to  get  a  better 
sample ;  but  lit  right  out ;  an'  how  he'll  spread  it  'round 
about  us  here,  only  the  Lord  knows;  but  as  for  me  I 
consider  that  our  luck  was  poor,  an'  the  sample,  so  fur 
as  I  have  any  feelin's,  one  that  I  should  never  have 
selected  to  have  myself  spread  abroad  by." 

"  Them  that  is  ignorant  won't  have  it  laid  to  their 
charge,"  said  Mrs.  Prouty  of  Prouty's  Neck,  solemnly. 

"  I  s'pose  not,"  said  Caroline,  "  but  I'd  rather  have 


228  POWER    LOT 

somethin'  charged  up  ag'in  me,  and  not  be  quite  so 
simple,  I  believe." 

"  It  must  'a'  been  the  same  agent,"  continued  Mrs. 
Prouty,  "  that  hove  along  thro'  the  Neck  a  spell  ago ; 
an'  talkin'  o'  samples,  Car'line,  I  doubt  ef  he  took  a 
much  better  one  off  us,  an'  ef  you  got  spread  around 
for  your  innercence  we're  likely  spread  fur  an'  wide 
for  our  wickedness,  him  tumblin'  first  thing  onto  Rip 
Wiz'll,  an'  askin'  of  him,  '  Have  you  giv'  yourself 
to  the  Lord?'  *  Giv'  myself  to  the  Lord!'  says  Rip 
Wiz'll,  says  he — *  who  in  nation  is  a-goin  to  do  my 
hayin?'" 

"  Bad  as  that  is,"  said  Caroline,  surveying  the  rigid 
expression  of  Mrs.  Prouty's  features  without  dismay, 
and  folding  her  own  gloved  hands  elegantly ;  "  the's 
somethin'  cuter  about  it,  after  all,  than  the'  is  in  the 
sample  we've  gone  out  by." 

"  How  long  ye  goin'  to  stay  to  Virginny's  ?  "  Mrs. 
Prouty  inquired  of  Doctor  Margate,  in  her  severely 
inquisitorial  tone,  turning  to  him  without  other  warning. 

Doctor  Margate,  quite  unacquainted  with  the  first 
name  of  his  hostess — Mrs.  Byjo — was  at  a  loss  for  an 
instant,  but  made  answer : 

"  Only  a  very  short  time,  I  regret  to  say,  madam." 

"  Maybe  it's  as  well,"  said  Mrs.  Prouty  without 
further  explanation  ;  but  Caroline  knew  that  she  referred 
in  this  discreet  way  to  the  potency  of  her  (Caroline's) 
own  charms  amongst  the  male  sex ;  and  she  was  neither 
vexed  thereby  nor  did  she  preen  herself  with  vanity, 
but  remained  as  ever  the  serene  queen  of  her  own  draw- 
ing-room. 

"  Mary   Stingaree's   a   girl,"   she  murmured   oppor- 


MRS.  PROUTY  OF  PROUTY'S  NECK  229 

tunely,  "  that,  cf  you  can't  respec'  her  then  who  can 
you  respec'  ?  " 

The  company  turned  their  thought  of  one  accord 
into  the  trend  of  Caroline's  leading,  save  Mrs.  Prouty, 
who  leaped  regardless  to  a  conclusion  out  of  sight: 

"  You  done  mighty  poorly,  Robert  Hilton,"  she  said, 
fixing  her  inflexible  gaze  on  poor  Rob.  "  From  all 
we  hear  to  Prouty's  Neck,  ye've  let  them  Tee-bos  scoop 
ye  in.  Ye're  a  shapely,  pleasin'  young  man,  an'  ye  ought 
ter  done  better." 

This  challenge  lying  by  way  of  severe  reproach 
untinged  by  condolence,  Rob,  having  no  defense  pre- 
pared, was  about  to  let  the  case  go  by  default,  when 
Doctor  Margate  fixed  the  redoubtable  Mrs.  Prouty  with 
an  unflinching  eye  of  his  own ;  so  great  was  the  kind- 
ness of  his  expression,  however,  she  forbore,  for  the 
moment,  to  exercise  her  own  tremendous  and  daring 
habit  of  speech. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  pardon  me  for  regarding  you 
with  so  persistent  a  look.  I  am  trying  to  place  you 
among  some  members  of  royalty  whom  it  was  my  good 
fortune  to  see  when  I  was  last  abroad.  It  is  a 
resemblance  more  than  striking,  it  is  phenomenal." 

"  You're  gittin'  'em  mixed  up,  Doctor  Maggut," 
interposed  the  indissolubly  tranquil  and  sweet  tones  of 
Caroline  Treet;  "that's  Virginny  Stafford  you're 
thinkin'  of,  not  Mis'  Prouty.  Mis'  Prouty's  folks 
wa'n't  descended  from  nothin'  as  was  ever  heered 
tell  on." 

"  The  most  that  can  be  said  for  'em,  on  the  Prouty 
side,  anyway,"  assented  Mrs.  Prouty,  in  full  confirma- 
tion of  Caroline's  words,  "  is,  that  they  was  a  vary 


230  POWER    LOT 

triflin'  lot.  My  mother's  folks  was,  a  considerable 
number  of  'em,  law-abidin',  stay-to-home  people;  but 
the  Proutys  has  got  weak  spots,  which  why  should  I 
conceal  when  all  the  world  knows?  It  use'  to  be  said  o* 
Lob  Prouty,  my  husband's  father,  and  Biltmur  Trcet, 
Car'line's  husban's  father,  that  ef  there'd  been  any 
science  known  in  them  days — as  the'  is  now — they  might 
V  been  smart  men,  pokin'  into  some  kind  o'  science  't 
'ud  interested  'em  maybe  an'  kep'  'em  out  o'  mischief, 
like  new-fangled  doctorin'  an'  universal'  preachin'  an' 
goin'  up  in  a  balloon  an'  these  machines  that  run  with- 
out no  horses,  an'  what-not ;  but  as  it  was  they  hadn't 
no  outlet,  an'  gophered  around  here  an'  thar'  over  the 
'arth  that  they  was  a  cuss  to,  tell  they  dropped  off  o' 
old  age,  a  mercy  to  themselves  an'  them  't  had  to  put 
up  with  their  everlastin'  pryin'  an'  peevishness." 

"We  that  have  an  outlet  ought  to  be  thankful 
indeed,"  replied  the  doctor,  and  made  no  further  effort 
to  compel  or  hypnotize  the  astounding  force  of  Mrs. 
Prouty  of  Prouty's  Neck. 

"  Mis'  Prouty's  kind  o'  abrup',"  Caroline  explained 
"  but  her  heart's  in  the  right  place,  ef  we  only  know 
whar5  to  look  for  it." 

"  Wai',  I  shan't  deny  you  that,  Car'line ;  it's  along  o' 
my  husban'  an'  children  an'  the  old  home  to  Prouty's 
Neck ;  it  ain't  watchin'  out  f 'r  to  make  a  second  ch'ice ; 
not  even  ef  Prouty  was  gone,  men  might  hang  around 
me  as  thick  as  blueberries  an'  ask  me  on  their  knees, 
they  wouldn't  git  no  'ncouragement  from  me." 

While  Rob  and  the  doctor  realized  the  hopelessness  of 
the  situation,  Caroline  remained  blandly  impervious  to 
the  plain  reprimand  which  had  been  hurled  at  her. 


MRS.    PROUTY    OF    PROUTY'S    NECK     231 

"I  believe  you,  Mis'  Prouty,"  she  rejoined;  "the 
wonder  was  that  you  married  at  all,  considerin'  the 
smartness  and  independence  o'  your  ways,  an'  men  bein' 
o'  that  kind  that  likes  to  keep  the  upper  hand  an'  do  the 
bossin'  their  own  selves.  All  women  air  not  like  you,  Mis' 
Prouty,"  said  Caroline,  with  a  look  of  the  beautiful 
clinging-vine  sort  toward  the  admiring  doctor, — "  but 
some  enjoys  themselves  better  to  lean  onto  than  to  order 
an'  direc'.  I  say  it  freely,  I'm  one  o'  that  kind  that,  ef 
I  take  up  with  a  man,  I'd  rather  lean  onto  him  than  be 
forever  bossin'  of  him  'round;  an',  so  long  as  my  man 
was  above  ground — or  out  o'  water,  perhaps  I'd  ought 
to  say,  for  bein'  seaf arin'  he  went  by  way  o'  water ;  but, 
afore  God  in  his  wisderm  took  him,  I  leaned  onto  him — 
whenever  he  was  in  port,  that  is." 

"  Git  out  o'  here,"  Mrs.  Prouty  suddenly  commanded 
her  two  boys  gravely,  "  an'  see  ef  there's  an  air  o' 
wind  stirrin'."  But  she  spoke  to  empty  places ;  the 
boys  had  slipped  out  some  time  before  without  either 
her  knowledge  or  approval. 

"In  my  humble  judgment,"  said  Caroline,  who  had 
taken  an  occasional  outlook  through  the  shutters, 
"  they've  made  tracks  for  home  along  shore.  I've  raised 
boys,  and  I  know  their  ways.  They  didn't  set  contented 
one  minute  whilst  they  was  in  the  Room." 

"  It's  eight  miles  'round  the  shore,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Prouty,  and  then  sighed  heavily,  "  Wai',  I  don't  know  's 
I  blame  'em." 

"  And  thar's  Dan  Prouty,  now,"  said  Caroline,  in  a 
discerning  voice,  "  sailing'  straight  into  the  Basin." 

Mrs.  Prouty  rose  promptly.  "  I'll  be  down  thar', 
time  he  lands,"  she  said.  "  All  of  present  company,  and 


232  POWER    LOT 

none  excepted,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  over  to  Prouty's 
Neck."  She  shook  hands  all  'round  as  if  a  solemn  com- 
mitment of  fate  hung  over  every  individual  there 
present. 

"  I  feel  pleased  to  think  ye  clum'  the  hill  to  see  me," 
Caroline  assured  her;  "  ye're  allus  welcome,  and  the 
sooner  the  better." 

"  You  was  allus  my  favorite  among  the  girls, 
Car'line,"  said  Mrs.  Prouty,  surveying  her  as  though 
she  would  recall  that  lost  soul  from  its  flirtatious 
designs  to  better  things. 

Rob  and  the  doctor  also  made  their  exit  from  the 
Room. 

"  I  am  going  back  to  the  safe  charms  of  Mary  Stin- 
garee  and  Mrs.  Stafford,"  said  the  doctor  to  Rob  at  the 
gate.  "  Mary  has  refused  me,  and  Mrs.  Stafford  would 
not  want  me,  anyway;  but  Mrs.  Prouty  and  Caroline 
Treet  are  dangerous  in  the  way  they  interest  a  man." 

Rob  giggled. 

"  I  don't  know,"  continued  the  doctor  gravely, 
"  whether  I  wanted  most  to  subjugate  Mrs.  Prouty  or 
stand  as  the  oak  for  Caroline  Treet  to  lean  upon,  but 
these  are  unbecoming  thoughts.  I  little  knew  what  was 
impending  when  you  called  my  attention  to  the  beckon- 
ing of  those  black  kid  gloves.  And  the  Room,  too.  The 
salons  of  old  and  luxurious  civilizations  have  not  so 
absorbing  an  atmosphere.  I  am  going  back  to  sit  with 
Mary  and  Mrs.  Stafford  on  the  porch,  and  gaze  off  on 
the  sentinel  bluffs  and  the  vast  outlying  ocean." 

The  doctor  did  not  once  smile.  It  occurred  to  Rob 
that  where  he  himself  saw  lots  of  fun,  and  gave  in 
return  the  utmost  of  kindly  sympathy,  the  great  man 


MRS.  PROUTY  OF  PROUTY'S  NECK  233 

saw  spheres  of  individual  existence  moving  still  with 
sublime  accord  in  their  eccentric  orbits,  and  stood  awed 
and  touched  before  the  spectacle.  A  certain  pique  of 
satisfaction  was  in  Rob's  soul,  that  he  should  have  in- 
troduced the  doctor  by  chance  to  so  choice  an  interview. 

"  Well,  I'll  stroll  on  and  see  some  more  of  my  friends," 
said  Rob. 

'*  More  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  turning  a  backward  look 
on  the  bright  young  face.  "  Well,  you  have  them,  and 
they — have  you ;  and  of  such  is  the  kingdom — 

The  last  low  words  escaped  Rob  as  he  marched  on, 
smiling. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

SKIPPER'S    WIFE    AND    HHODY 

ROB  could  smile,  for  though  Mary  Stingaree  was  out  of 
his  reach,  no  one  else  had  won  her;  even  the  celebrated 
Margate  had  come  a-courting  in  vain.  Sordid  life  had 
bound  him,  and  he  was  a  fighter  of  beasts,  but  now  for 
a  little  space  he  roamed  kingdom-free  in  his  own 
imaginings. 

A  little  old  woman  standing  on  the  top  rail  of  a 
picket  fence,  her  wrinkled  face  young  with  good  fellow- 
ship, gathering  lilacs  of  the  choicest  out  of  the  reach 
of  the  common  herd  in  honor  of  his  approach — this 
met  his  eye,  and  he  rushed  to  her. 

"  But,  Mother  Skipper,"  he  gasped,  taking  her  in 
his  arms,  "  you  must  not,  you  might  fall."  He  put 
her  tenderly  down  to  earth.  Her  arms  were  full  of 
rare  bunches  of  lilacs,  and  she  did  not  care.  "  Pooh," 
she  remarked,  "  I'm  spry" 

Skipper  himself,  rigging  up  the  well-sweep  near  at 
hand,  laughed  indulgently. 

"  You,  Rob  Hilton,"  he  exclaimed,  "  runnin'  an'  hug- 
gin'  a  ga'l,  jest  as  soon  as  ye  clap  eyes  on  her.  Me,  all 
over — what  I  use*  ter  be  afore  rheumatiz  got  holt 
of  me." 

"  I  know  it,"  Rob  answered,  "  but  what  are  you  going 
to  do  when  some  are  so  handsome  you  can't  help  your- 
self, and  so  spry  " — he  added — "  that  you'd  have  hard 
work  to  catch  them." 

234 


SKIPPER'S    WIFE    AND    RHODY          235 

"  Land  sakes  alive,"  said  Mrs.  Skipper,  with  pleas- 
ant disgust,  "  ef  you  two  don't  make  a  pair." 

"  Spry !  "  echoed  Skipper  wistfully ;  "  why,  I'm 
eighty,  and  when  the  rheumatiz  ain't  on  me  I  c'n  jump 
up,  yit,  an'  hit  my  heels  tergether  three  times  'fore  I 
tetch  to  'arth." 

"  The  last  time's  gittin'  to  sound  kind  o'  faint, 
though,  Skipper,"  said  his  wife,  with  conscientious 
literalness. 

"  Mebby  you're  gittin'  a  little  deef  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  extry  good  o'  hearin',  as  you  know  well, 
Skipper.  How  much  could  you  hear  with  the  wads  o' 
cotton-battin  that  I'  got  stuffed  inter  my  ears?  Whilst 
to  me  the  sound  only  comes  pleasanter — it's  too  loud 
when  I  don't  have  my  wads  in." 

Skipper  admitted  the  truth  of  this  with  a  look  of 
proud  confirmation  directed  toward  Rob. 

"  Somebody  a-preachin'  to  the  River  split  her  ear- 
drums with  his  chantey,"  he  explained,  "  and  she's  wore 
them  breakwaters  in  her  ears  ever  sence." 

"  It  wa'n't  his  chantey,  Skipper ;  'twas  his  prayin'." 

"  Chantey  or  prayin',  what's  the  odds?  he  stunted 
ye  with  his  racket,"  mildly  continued  Skipper,  in  full 
explanation. 

"  He  done  it  to  alarm  souls,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Skipper, 
in  grave  extenuation  of  the  offense  which  had  smitten 
her  own  acute  sense  so  grievously ;  "  an'  some  there  was 
that  needed  it  " — she  regarded  Skipper  contemplatively 
— never  accusingly — "  but  they  was  not  there.  Only 
them  was  there  that  had  been  alarmed  long  ago  and 
got  all  settled  down  after  it,  and  the  wrong  way  was 
took  with  'em ;  all  that  was  there  felt  it." 


236  POWER    LOT 

"  She  ain't  been  down  to  meet'n  sence,"  said  Skipper, 
in  a  tone  of  great  self-congratulation. 

"  But  I  aint  give  up  the  Lord,  Skipper.  I  hold  my 
own  communin's,  an'  I  keep  the  Sabbath  day  stricter  'n 
what  I  ever  did,  or  than  any  does  that  goes  down  to 
meetin'.  I  seen  some  tourists  trompin'  around  on  the 
beach  last  Sunday,  an'  it  made  my  heart  ache  to  think 
o*  sech  a  dessic'ation.  My  folks  was  meetin'-going 
folks,  an'  ef  we  don't  hang  on  to  our  principles  where 
be  we?  High  water  or  low,  gale  or  ca'm,  there's 
nothin'  could  tempt  me  to  go  explorin*  around  on  the 
beach  on  the  Sabbath  Day." 

Rob,  who  never  failed  of  a  Sunday  ramble  along 
shore;  and  Skipper,  who  stole  on  that  day  of  sacred 
observance  as  lovingly  to  the  surf  as  if  it  had  been  his 
father  and  his  mother — both  hung  their  heads  silently, 
though  not  without  a  sense  of  pride  in  Mrs.  Skipper's 
facile  walk  among  the  religious  proprieties,  and  a 
marvel  at  those  moral  distinctions,  so  dim  to  them,  which 
she  so  well  knew  how  to  define ;  above  all,  a  hidden  hope, 
perhaps,  of  holding  on  by  her  skimpy  little  old-fashioned 
skirts  for  a  smuggled  passage  through  those  final 
spiritual  reckonings  where  she  was  so  safe  and  they 
so  wide  and  tumultuously  at  sea. 

"  Ache  an'  pain,  pain  an*  ache,  beat  an*  throb,  throb 
an*  beat,  an'  sometimes  roll  an'  toss,"  said  Skipper, 
changing  the  subject,  and  pathetically  stroking  his 
knees — "  toss  an'  roll " 

"  Ye  sleep  like  a  log,  Skipper,"  Mrs.  Skipper  cor- 
rected him  gently. 

"  You  don't  know  what  I  suffer  sometimes  in  the 
middle  o'  the  night,"  said  Skipper,  his  exceeding  young 


SKIPPER'S    WIFE    AND    RHODY          237 

and  beautiful  eyes  wandering  with  a  wild  plaintiveness 
toward  the  horizon  of  mingled  sea  and  sky. 

"  Ye  never  felt  so  much  as  yer  conscience  vexin'  of 
ye,  Skipper,  but  what  ye'd  wake  me  up  an'  start  me  for 
the  camfire  bottle.  But  women  is  better  sufferers  'n 
men,  as  all  the  worl'  knows." 

"  She  took  on  dretful,  dretful,  when  our  only  darter 
died,"  said  Skipper  to  Rob  meaningly ;  "  we  was  af  eard 
she'd  lose  her  reason.  Wai',  wal',"  he  went  on  tenderly 
withdrawing  his  eyes  from  Mrs.  Skipper's  downcast 
face,  "  I've  had  ter  do  it,  Rob.  Come  the  season,  I 
couldn't  stan'  it  no  longer.  I've  got  me  a  boat  and  I've 
been  a-painting  an'  ballas'in'  of  her." 

"  He's  too  old,"  said  Mrs.  Skipper,  a  still  deeper 
gloom  enshadowing  her  countenance  as  she  shook  her 
head. 

"  Old  'r  young,  I  know  how  ter  manage  a  boat,  an'  I 
couldn't  stan'  it  no  longer, — a  man  't  's  been  the  dog 
I've  been  on  the  water!  I've  got  my  trawl  geared  up 
with  a  thousand  hooks,  an'  I'm  goin'  ter  bait  'em  next 
Monday  an'  make  out  through  the  Gut  ag'in." 

"  It's  in  his  blood,  an'  nothin'  '11  rest  him  of  it  tell  he 
heaves  up  his  las'  sigh.  His  father  an'  his  gran'father 
was  skippers  afore  him.  Wal',  ef  that's  the  way  he  is 
to  go,  why,  so  it  must  be." 

"  Do  ye  know  o*  any  other  way  to  git  to  the  fishin' 
grounds  ?  "  inquired  the  old  skipper  of  his  wife,  in  all 
simplicity,  lifting  eyes  of  skyey  candor  from  a  weather- 
beaten  countenance. 

"  I  meant  something  else,"  she  said  significantly  and 
solemnly.  "  Ye  know  I  wouldn't  feel  so  bad  about  it  ef 
ye'd  only  been  dipped." 


238  POWER    LOT 

"Good  Tunket — wife.  First  ye're  afeard  I'll  git 
drowned,  an'  then  ye  want  me  dipped.  Le's  take  the 
water  's  it  comes.  F'r  my  part  I  think  it's  'hullsomer  ter 
be  salt,  an'  enough  of  it,"  cried  the  innocent  old  sea- 
dog  buoyantly.  "  Let  alone  o'  the  mux  in  that  ol' 
Baptis'  tank,  Mother,  an'  le's  take  the  water  whatever 
way  God  A'mighty's  mind  ter  send  it." 

Rob  gave  his  helpless  giggle. 

Mrs.  Skipper's  sad  face  broke  up  a  little,  indulgently. 
"  Wai',  anyways,"  she  said,  "  I  believe  't  Grace  '11  save 
him,  somehow.  It  saves  ter  the  utterm'st,  an'  I  believe 
it  '11  retch  down  an'  git  a-holt  o'  Skipper,  somehow." 
It  was  plain  that  she  had  no  intention  of  putting  out  on 
any  sea,  celestial  or  terrestrial,  without  her  Skipper. 

"  Sure !  "  responded  that  scion  of  perdition  kindly ; 
"  don't  ye  fret  no  more  about  it,  Mother.  Ain't  ye 
goin'  ter  treat  Rob  to  some  buttermilk?" 

Rob  was  still  a  famous  drinker,  according  to  his  new 
lights.  Spring  water,  milk,  buttermilk,  all  was  fish 
that  came  to  his  net ;  and  the  depth  of  the  draught  was 
mainly  determined  by  the  copiousness  of  the  source  of 
supply. 

"  My  sakes,  it's  a  pleasure  to  see  ye  guzzle,"  beamed 
Mrs.  Skipper,  looking  up  as  at  the  splendid  throat  of 
an  ox  while  Rob  drained  the  pitcher  of  buttermilk. 
"  Come  into  the  garding,"  she  continued,  giving  out 
gratefully  to  the  utmost  of  her  hospitality,  "  le's  see 
what  we  can  do  for  ye  there.  Laylocks  is  purty,  but 
they're  kind  o'  common;  they  ain't  like  garding-raised 
flowers." 

"  Fix  him  up  purty,  Mother,"  Skipper  called  after 
them  without  stint  or  jealousy.  Mrs.  Skipper  stood 


SKIPPER'S    WIFE    AND    RHODY          239 

in  the  tall  grass  in  her  flower  garden ;  many  of  the 
flowers  were  hidden  by  the  grass,  but  some  tall  "  de- 
lilahs  "  and  "  pineys  "  held  their  own.  She  plucked  sev- 
eral of  the  grandest  specimens  for  Rob,  who  had  the 
great  good  sense  to  know  that  the  little  old  woman 
was,  herself,  the  sweetest  flower  standing  there. 

But  he  had  another  heart's  love  farther  on;  and 
so,  with  a  tender  adieu  to  Mrs.  Skipper,  his  hands 
embarrassed  with  a  riches  of  laylocks,  pineys,  and 
delilahs,  he  tramped  on  his  picturesque  way. 

And  now  at  his  approach  looked  up  gladly  little 
Rhody  Ditmarse,  eight  years  old,  and  plain  as  sorrow, 
with  a  temporary  absence  of  front  teeth,  and  an  old- 
world  gravity  of  care  resting  on  her  small  snubbed 
face. 

She  sat  on  the  Ditmarse  doorstep,  barefoot,  her  brown 
briar-scratched  but  sturdy  legs  plainly  adapted  for 
that  toilsome  and  trial-beset  path  in  life  which  they  in 
all  probability  were  destined  to  run. 

"  Hello,  Rob,"  she  cried,  and  the  grin  she  gave  him 
through  her  exposed  gums  declared  openly  as  day  that 
her  heart  was  in  his  keeping. 

"  Hello,  Rhody,"  replied  Rob,  with  reciprocal  af- 
fection. "I  see  you've  got  the  cows  home  and  the 
work  all  done  up." 

She  nodded  sagely.  "  Red  Suke's  gittin'  to  be  a 
breecher,"  she  said.  Rob  knew  that  this  meant  a  cow 
that  jumped  and  broke  fences,  and  he  received  the  news 
with  sympathy.  "  But  Father  says  he's  goin'  ter  rig 
up  a  poke  on  her  ter-morrer  't  '11  fix  her  so  she  won't 
jump  no  more  fences." 

Rob  was  sitting  on  the  doorstep  at  Rhody's  side  by 


240  POWER    LOT 

this  time,  and  the  little  girl  put  up  her  hand  and  whis- 
pered confidentially: 

"Mother  an*  Father  's  a-havin*  words  inside  tharV 
The  sound  of  voices  in  the  kitchen  indicated  that  they 
were  not  only  having  words,  but  loud  ones. 

"  Mother  says  Grammer's  goin'  ter  come  here  ter 
live,  an'  Father  says  she  ain't  neither — but  Mother  can 
beat  Father  ev'ry  time,"  sighed  little  Rhody  content- 
edly ;  "  an'  Grammer  c'n  come,  I  guess,  pore,  lonesome, 
ol'  crittur."  Rhody's  tone  was  such  a  faithful  repro- 
duction of  the  whine  of  some  charitable  elder,  and  her 
face  was  that  of  so  confirmed  a  bearer  of  life's  bur- 
dens, Rob  actually  felt  a  sense  of  edification  in  her 
presence. 

"  She  c'n  come,  pore,  lonesome,  ol'  crittur — an'  she 
c'n  have  my  plate  with  the  red  mountings  an'  blue 
catarack  painted  onto  it." 

"  It  must  be  a  beautiful  plate,"  said  Rob. 

"  Grammer  giv'  it  to  me  when  I  was  borned,  an'  it's 
only  fa'r  she  sh'd  have  it  back  ag'in.  Ef  God  '11 
give  me  vittles,"  continued  Rhody,  evidently  quoting 
from  the  paternal  wisdom  in  this  instance,  "  ef  God  '11 
give  me  vittles,  I  don't  care  what  kind  o'  a  tub  I  snout 
'em  out  of." 

"  My  heavens,  Rhody,"  gasped  Rob,  "  how  you  do 
remember  sayings  for  a  young  one." 

"  What  ye  goin'  ter  do  with  yer  pineys  an*  delilahs?  " 
observed  Rhody,  eying  those  splendid  blooms  with  the 
moderate  spirit  of  one  who  can  admire  without  coveting. 

"  I'm  going  to  give  some  to  you,"  said  Rob,  at  once 
holding  out  a  pair  to  her,  "  and  half  of  my  lilacs." 

"Ye'd  better  keep  yer  laylocks  ef  ye  favor  'em," 


SKIPPER'S    WIFE    AND    RHODY          241 

said  Rhody,  showing  a  disposition  to  accept  only  the 
rarer  bloom ;  "  they're  common  as  sheep-weed  'round 
here.  Bet  ye,"  she  suddenly  challenged  him,  with  a 
grin,  for  the  dome  of  her  thought  was  Shakespearean 
and  embraced  romping  joy,  as  well  as  stern  delibera- 
tion and  bravely  sustained  sorrow ;  "  bet  ye  a  candy 
suckker  I  c'n  tech  Pompey  Rock  afore  you  kin." 

The  young  man  and  the  little  girl  sprang  to  their 
feet  and  ran  like  victims  of  spasmodic  insanity  pursued 
by  the  furies,  down  the  bluffs,  over  fences,  down  steeper 
bluifs,  scampering  out  to  where  the  tide  had  left  Pom- 
pey's  Rock  as  the  solemn  and  tremendous  goal  of  their 
endeavors. 

Of  course  Rhody  touched  it  first,  Rob  looked  out  for 
that,  and  made  a  great  show  of  panting  forth  his 
humiliation  and  defeat. 

"Tuckered?"  grinned  the  little  girl.  "I  ain't 
tuckered  a  mite.  Wai',"  she  sighed  thoughtfully,  "  I 
had  my  spree,  an'  now  I  must  go  beatin'  in  to'ds  home 
or  they'll  be  settin'  up  a  pelly-loo  for  me." 

"What  is  that?"  said  Rob,  as  a  humble  inquirer 
and  unashamed,  for  Rhody  ever  imparted  her  wisdom 
generously,  with  no  hint  of  scorn  for  the  unenlightened. 

"  A  pelly-loo  is  a  screech,  or  a  yawlin',  or  a  bawlin', 
ary  one,"  said  she. 

Rob  pressed  the  penny  for  a  candy  sucker  into  her 
hand.  "You  won  the  bet,  Rhody." 

"  Ye  needn't  ter  pay  it,  Rob.  Bettin'  is  only  jest 
f'r  fun.  Ef  you'd  a-tetched  Pompey's  'fore  I  did,  I 
couldn't  a  paid  ye,  for  I  didn't  hev  no  penny."  She 
handed  it  back,  but  Rob  looked  hurt  and  shook  his 
head. 


243  POWER    LOT 

"  Ef  I  keep  it,"  continued  Rhody,  closing  a  very 
hard,  red  little  fist  over  it,  "  it  won't  go  for  no  suckker : 
it*  11  go  to'ds  gittin'  me  a  meetin'  hat." 

"What!  no  suckker  after  all?" 

"  No ;  I'd  ruther  have  one,  Rob — but  Mother  told 
Father  I'd  git  damd  like  the  heathin  ef  I  didn't  hev 
no  meetin'  hat  purty  soon.  She  said  I'd  never  heern 
tell  o'  sech  a  thing  as  a  Lord's  Supper." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know — I  don't  want  to  dispute  your 
mother,  and  I  don't  know  much  about  it,"  said  Rob 
reflectively ;  "  but,  somehow,  I  should  think,  you're 
so  generous,  and  work  so  hard  for  your  folks,  and  such 
a  little  girl,  too,  and  giving  your  grandmother  your 
own  plate  with  the  mountains  and  the  cataract,  and  all ; 
and  there's  a  kind  of  a  spirit  about  you,  Rhody — I 
can't  explain — but  I,  honest,  believe  if  God  had  a 
supper  table  he'd  want  you  to  sit  right  near  to  him 
at  it,  honest,  I  do." 

"  Ye'd  ought  ter  know,"  said  Rhody  meditatively, 
"  fr  ye  come  from  New  Yar-r-rk.  But  I  wouldn't  care 
where  I  set  to  the  supper,  Rob,"  she  added,  with  entire 
conscientiousness,  "  so  long  as  I  set  alongside  o'  you." 

"  Same  here,"  replied  Rob,  really  deeply  interested 
in  the  subject,  and  with  a  gravity  as  thoughtful  as 
Rhody's  own. 

"  S'posin'  ye  should  spy  me  out  in  hell  ?  "  continued 
the  fearless  Rhody,  whose  mental  range,  as  has  been 
said,  was  Shakespearean,  and  who  stuck  at  no  finical 
barriers  of  ultra  polite  English,  "  s'posin'  ye*  sh'd  spy 
me  out  in  hell,  Rob,  what'd  ye  do?  " 

"Well,  I  guess  you  know  very  well,  Rhody,  I'd 
work  day  and  night  to  get  you  out." 


SKIPPER'S    WIFE    AND    RHODY          243 

«  Yes,"  said  Rhody  f aithfully,  "  I  bet  ye  would." 

"  And  what,"  said  Rob,  following  Rhody's  trail  along 
these  novel  theological  altitudes,  "  what  if  you  were  in 
the  other  place  and  I  was  in  hell — for,  sharp  though 
they  are  in  New  York,  they  might  get  there,  you  know 
— what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"Wai',  ef  my  own  wings  was  growed,"  said  Rhody, 
her  plain  blue  eyes  fairly  ecstatic  with  this  untram- 
meled  flight  of  her  imagination,  "  I'd  dive  straight 
down  an'  git  ye  myself.  But,  ef  I'm  settin'  'round 
thar'  moultin',  I'd  make  sech  a  pelly-loo  that  them 
full-growed  angels  wouldn't  git  no  peace  tell  they  dove 
down  an'  hove  ye  up  onto  their  wings  an'  fetched  ye  up 
safet  and  sound.  I'd  raise  '  Snakes  an'  Tophit',"  said 
the  excited  Rhody,  again  choosing  a  gem  from  the 
paternal  language,  "  tell  they  started  ter  go  down  an' 
fetch  ye,  Rob." 

Thus  mutually  secure  in  the  dark  mazes  of  the  here 
and  the  hereafter,  the  comrades  parted,  Rhody  making 
homeward,  and  Rob  continuing  his  path  along  the 
beach;  for  even  yet  the  sun  had  not  reached  its 
setting. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THE    AUCTION 

APPROACHING  the  River  settlement,  Rob  heard  and 
saw  an  auction  in  progress,  and  he  hastened  on,  con- 
gratulating himself  that  he  had  stumbled,  perchance, 
on  a  new  scene  of  activity.  Never  since  his  arrival 
in  the  country  had  he  beheld  so  heartily  numerous  a 
company  gathered  together. 

Captain  Belcher  as  auctioneer  was  unwearied. 

"  How  much  for  Daisy  Lee  comin'  yander,  with  all 
his  bokays  throwed  in,"  he  declaimed,  low,  Rob  not  yet 
within  hearing.  So  Rob  dawned  good-naturedly  upon 
the  laughing  company,  unaware  that  he  was  the  fresh 
cause  of  their  mirth.  But  the  fist  that  clasped  Mrs. 
Skipper's  lilacs  had  now  a  well-earned  reputation  for 
prowess,  and  Captain  Belcher,  with  discreetly  veiled 
sarcasm,  lifted  his  hat  as  Rob  leaned  on  the  fence 
in  close  proximity  to  the  scene. 

"  Mr.  Hilton,  ladies  and  gents,  ef  the  little  birds 
carries  their  tales  true,  is  not  allus  goin*  to  be  a  mar- 
ried bachelder,  but  is  goin'  to  stock  up  a  home.  He 
has  arrove  jest  in  time  ter  bid  off  this  beautiful  lemon 
squeezer.  Now  honeymoons  is  sweet — but  some  sweet, 
some  sour,  that's  the  way  ter  mix  it;  an'  anybody 
calkerlatin'  on  a  honeymoon  wants  just  sech  a  lemon 
squeezer  as  this  right  handy.  Start  'er  up,  somebody. 
What  'm  I  bid?  Look  a-here — ain't  ye  ever  had  yer 
girl  mix  ye  up  a  glarss  o'  lemonade  some  hot  July 
344 


THE    AUCTION  245 

evenln',  an*  swallered  down  ten  to  a  dozen  seeds  along 
'ith  what  flies  an'  June-bugs  the'  was  huvverin'  'round? 
I  have.  Great  Tamarack,  ef  swallerin'  lemon  seeds 
an'  sech  truck  perduces  'penderceters  the  wonder  is 
I  ain't  been  toted  back  ter  the  States  long  ergo  ter  be 
operated  on  an'  into  my  marble  tomb.  But  here  ye 
have  it.  No  danger,  this  'ere  lemon  squeezer  is  its  own 
seed-retainer,  simplerfied  magic  'namel  screw,  Ederson 
patent,  never-rust,  geared-up,  all-endurin' — good  Lord, 
ain't  nobody  here  calkerlatin'  on  a  honeymoon?  Start 
'er  up.  What  'm  I  offered?  " 

"  Five  cents,"  declared  an  angry  and  aggressive 
voice.  Rob  glanced  in  the  direction  whence  proceeded 
that  familiar  snarl  and  saw  Bate,  standing  at  Cuby's 
side;  and  Cuby's  eyes  flamed  wrath  at  Rob.  So, 
thought  Rob,  Bate  had  told  Cuby  that  he  (Rob)  had 
attacked  him  for  the  brotherly  admonition  he  had  found 
it  necessary  to  give  his  sister  Mary — that  would  be 
Bate's  way  of  explaining  it ;  and  Cuby's  soul  was 
consumed  with  jealousy  and  hate. 

The  smile  that  had  been  beaming  broadly  on  Rob's 
face  left  it,  and  a  look  of  bewilderment  and  sick  dis- 
gust took  its  place.  But  he  strode  manfully  down  to 
Cuby's  side,  nearer  the  auction  tables,  whose  motley 
contents  were  revealed  to  the  open  air  and  the  wonder- 
ing crowd. 

"  Shall  I  bid  for  it,  Cuby?  "  he  said,  lifting  his  hat 
to  her  and  conquering  himself  to  smile  as  one  who  was 
glad  to  be  near  her  and  proud  to  own  her.  "  I  will 
bid  for  it,  too.  Ten  cents,"  he  shouted. 

"  Fifteen,"  cried  Bate  malignantly. 

"  Twenty,"  again  shouted  Rob,  and  Cuby's  unsof- 


246  POWER    LOT 

tcned  eyes  yet  gleamed  with  satisfaction.  She  was 
asserting  in  public  view  her  power  as  enchantress  and 
fostering  a  quarrel  between  two  apparent  suitors  for 
her  charms,  and  her  head  was  held  high. 

"  Twenty-five,"  screamed  Bate,  whose  voice  in  pas- 
sion took  on  the  nature  of  some  devouring  bird  of 
the  air. 

"  Thirty,"  Rob's  tones  grew  more  clear  and  boyish 
by  reason  of  the  stress  of  warfare. 

"Thirty-five,"  came  the  answering  scream. 

At  "  Fifty  "  Rob  paused  and  said  reasonably,  aloud, 
"  Say,  we  can  get  a  fine  new  one  for  less  than  that, 
Cuby.  What's  the  use  in  being  silly?  Let  Bate  have 
the  old  thing  if  he  wants  it." 

A  merry  cheer  went  up,  and  it  was  for  Rob  and  the 
plain  dictates  of  common  sense. 

But  Cuby  saw  it  otherwise.  Bate,  for  private  rancor, 
would  have  bid  to  the  end  of  time:  possessing  nothing, 
he  would  at  least  have  maintained  the  attitude  of  a 
squanderer,  as  quenchless  in  his  determination  as  in 
his  hate.  She  saw  it  in  the  light  of  her  own  personal 
triumph  and  defense,  which  Rob  flatly  refused  in  the 
sight  of  all  men  to  continue  further,  as  though  the 
game  were  not  worth  the  candle. 

She  stamped  her  foot.  "You  are  a  miser  and  a 
cow-ar-r-rd,"  she  cried.  "  I  want  not  your  company 
with  me.  Go  you  to  them  w'at  likes  makin'  company 
with  a  fool." 

Rob,  whiter  than  chalk,  again  lifted  his  hat  to  her, 
and  with  dignity: 

"  No  man  calls  me  a  coward,  Cuby.  Perhaps  you'll 
think  better  of  it  when  you  are  not  so  angry."  He 


THE    AUCTION  247 

joined  the  group  by  the  fence  again.  Public  sentiment 
was  on  his  side,  to  his  wonder;  and  by  chance,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  for  he  was  no  diplomatist. 

Meanwhile,  Captain  Belcher  stood  with  uplifted 
lemon  squeezer  and  open  mouth  expressive  of  absorbing 
interest.  As  the  public  eye  reverted  to  him  once  more 
he  rose  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  Turns  with  a  crank,  crank,  crank,"  he  exclaimed 
jubilantly,  waving  the  lemon  squeezer  high  in  air.  "  I 
been  inspectin'  of  'er,  and  I  find  she  turns  with  a  crank. 
Duplex  cushion  springs.  Wireless  triple  screw.  Mac- 
carony  system — she  ain't  no  old  side-wheeler,  this 
lemon  squeezer  ain't.  Ah  now,  if  it  was  only  a  girl- 
squeezer." 

Roars  of  merriment  applauded  his  wit  and  drowned 
his  puissant  voice,  reverberating  from  the  bluffs  and 
the  region  beyond  and  far  down  the  River  road;  here 
in  the  River  settlement  itself  joy  shrieked  aloud  and 
spent  itself  in  an  ecstasy  of  uncontrollable  mirth,  while 
on  the  other  hand  the  far-sounding  beaches  stretched 
away  in  solemn  wonder.  Belcher  himself  was  solemn ; 
that  his  wit  was  keen  he  realized,  but  such  excess  of 
laughter  recalled  him  with  an  imperturbable  gravity 
to  the  business  in  hand. 

"  Do  I  hear  another  bid?  "  he  asked.  "  Be  you  all 
done  on  the  lemon  squeezer?  Goin',  goin',  an'  gone— 
at  fifty  cents — to  Bate  Stingaree." 

A  subdued  howl  now  of  derisive  laughter,  greeted 
Bate.  Angry  was  he  beyond  all  utterance.  "  Come, 
Cuby,"  he  muttered,  "  let's  leave  this  gang  o'  cackling 
idjits."  Angry  past  utterance  was  Cuby.  There  was 
but  one  scornful  and  revengeful  thing  left  for  her  to 


248  POWER    LOT 

do,  and  that  was  to  go  away  with  Bate,  and  she  turned 
by  this  method  to  flaunt  her  contempt  in  the  eyes  of  tho 
company.  Rob  was  now  in  the  position  of  a  man 
despised  and  insulted  openly,  and  pitying  looks  fell 
upon  him.  Life  was  too  intricate  for  Rob,  so  low- 
fallen,  to  study  the  matter  out;  only,  so  far  as  he 
knew,  he  meant  to  play  the  man. 

"  Don't  go  away  with  him,  Cuby,"  he  said,  catching 
up  with  her ;  "  people  won't  think  fair  of  you  if  you 
do  this;  they'll  think  ill  of  you,  and  you  do  not 
deserve  it." 

"  Go  mind  you  your  own  bus-i-ness,"  she  replied 
passionately;  "you — you  poor  half-a-fool  laylock 
thi'f." 

"  Great  heavens,  Cuby,  Mrs.  Skipper  gave  me  the 
lilacs,  and  I've  brought  them  to  you.  Won't  you  take 
them?  "  He  held  them  out  earnestly.  Cuby,  with  a 
quick  disdainful  flash  of  her  hand,  dashed  them  to 
earth. 

"Take  them  to  Ma'y  Sting'ree,"  she  cried,  "w'at 
make  a  laugh  at  you.  Or  that  seelly  one  that  they  call 
*  Car'line,'  or  ol'  Mis'  Skippaire,  or  dar-r-rty  little 
Rhode,  w'at  goes  call  the  cows  home  bare-laiggit.  Go 
you  to  them  with  your  ol'  steenkin'  flowers — go." 

She  left  him  blighted.  For  his  wits  were  slow,  sure 
enough:  they  were  mighty  good  wits,  but  they  were 
slow.  But  Mrs.  Skipper's  lilacs — he  could  not  leave 
those  in  the  dust.  He  gathered  them  up. 

'*  Say,  but  ain't  he  fond  o'  flowers,  though,"  com- 
mented a  voice  from  the  audience ;  "  ain't  he  kind  o' 
sof,  though,  f'r  sech  a  thunderin'  big,  squar'-shoul- 
dered  buck." 


THE    AUCTION  249 

With  smarting  cheeks,  and  still  holding  the  lilacs, 
Rob  returned  to  his  post  of  observation  at  the  auction. 
For  some  moments  his  cheeks  burned  and  his  eyes  were 
downcast.  Then,  two  baby  girls  of  his  discursive  ac- 
quaintance among  the  hills,  let  loose  by  their  compas- 
sionate mother,  toddled  over  to  him  and  grasped  the 
calves  of  his  legs.  He  stooped  and  picked  them  up, 
one  on  each  arm,  where  they  sat  loftily  perched  with 
a  visible  contempt  for  all  past  weary  and  fretful  tug- 
ging at  their  mother's  skirts. 

"  The  kind  creetur',  the'  ain't  no  harm  to  him,  / 
don't  believe,"  whispered  one  woman  to  her  neighbor, 
"  standin'  thar'  as  patient  as  a  ox  lashed  to  a  plow 
with  his  arms  full  o'  babies  an'  laylocks." 

With  the  accession  of  the  babies,  who  seemed  to  have 
come  indirectly  to  alleviate  and  share  his  ruth  and 
confusion,  Rob  quite  lost  his  abashed  self -consciousness, 
and  began  to  experience  renewed  interest  in  the  lively 
proceedings  of  the  auctioneer. 

"  What  we  got  here  ?  "  queried  Belcher,  in  his  tones 
of  cheerful  thunder.  "  Pair  o'  han'some,  han'painted, 
half-tint,  full-tone,  storm  rubbers.  Waltham  movement, 
wheelbarrow  action,  warranted  not  ter  run  down  at 
the  toe — new  when  they  was  first  made.  Start  'em 
up,  somebody.  Infermation  from  the  weather  bureau 
states  't  the  sun  is  goin'  ter  set  to-night,  same  as  usual, 
no  pos'ponement  on  account  o'  this  auction.  Wake  up, 
you  folks  thar',  or  the  foolish  virgins  '11  git  their  ile- 
cans  filled  an'  ketch  ye  nappin'.  Now  look  here,  what  'm 
I  bid?  No  lampblack  an'  sugar  in  them  rubbers — 
them's  straight  gum — the  kind  mother  use'  ter  wear 
— what  me  an'  little  brother  use'  ter  take  holt,  me 


250  POWER    LOT 

at  the  toe  an'  him  at  the  heel,  an'  stretch  clean  acrost 
the  kitchen  floor — but  when  one  eend  let  go,  then  look 
out !  Holes  in  'em  ?  Sure.  A  hole  in  each  one  to  put 
yer  foot  into.  Pass  'em  'round  an'  see  if  ye  can  find 
any  more. 

"  Whilst  the  rubbers  is  goin'  'round  what  'm  I  bid 
on  this  beautiful  asbestos  pad?  " 

"  'Tain't  a  pad,"  interposed  a  scornful  feminine 
voice ;  "  it's  a  tea-stand." 

"S-s-sh,"  pleaded  the  powerful  Belcher;  "she's 
a-goin'  as  a  pad.  Five  cent — six  cent — and  knocked 
down  to  Sammy  Pine — at  six  cent — as  a  pad.  You'll 
be  all  right  next  winter,  Sammy;  the'  won't  no  wind 
peel  through  you. 

"  Hurry  up  with  them  rubbers.  Mis'  Bowles  wants 
time  to  borry  Mis'  Henfry's  glasses  an'  take  a  look? 
All  right,  then.  What  we  got  here?  Spat  for  turnin' 
griddlecakes  an'  spankin'  the  young  ones,  turn  an'  turn 
about.  What  'm  I  bid?  One  cent — two  cent — two 
cent — an'  gone  to  Ephri'm  Horn  at  two  cent.  Good 
f'r  you,  Ephri'm.  Ye  get  squeezed  dry  on  yer  taxes 
every  year,  thirty  cent  for  yer  poll  an'  thirty-three 
cent  fr  yer  'sessment  an'  prop'ty  tax;  but,  by  Gum, 
ye  got  a  cheap  griddle  spat  ter  make  up  for  it.  Now 
all  ye  want  is  a  good-sized  mess  o'  young  ones  tcr 
spank,  Ephri'm,  elset  that  spat  '11  be  layin'  idle  half 
the  time. 

"What  ye  doin'  with  them  rubbers?  Mis'  Bowles  is 
inspectin'  of  'em? — waP,  all  right.  Now,  look  a-here. 
Jest  lift  yer  eyes  to  this  interestin'  fine-tooth  comb. 
This  'ere  comb's  got  a  history  ef  we  was  a  mind  ter 
look  into  it,  an'  spite  o'  the  years  she's  seen  an'  'er 


THE    AUCTION  251 

many  wanderin's,  she's  jist  as  keen  as  ever — this  old 
comb  is — for  followin'  and  pursuin' — whatever  ought 
ter  be  pursued.  Why,  she'd  make  tracks  anywhar's, 
straight  hair  or  curly,  Chinee,  Japanee,  Squ-gee,  or 
Feejee.  Mister  Hilton,  drop  them  infant  cherribs  an' 
yer  bokays  a  minute,  an'  step  down  here,  please,  an' 
show  'em  what  this  'ere  heirloom,  sooveneer,  Philadel- 
phy  centennial,  fine-tooth  comb  can  do  to'ds  surveyin' 
a  road  through  them  extry-ply,  three-strand,  war- 
ranted five  hundred  yards  to  a  spool,  silk-wove,  cotton- 
back,  plush-finish,  goldin'  locks  o'  yourn." 

The  multitude  laughed,  and  Rob  laughed  gayest  of 
all.  (It  was  a  long  time  since  Rob  had  been  at  a 
theater.)  The  little  girls  mounted  on  his  shoulders 
laughed  and  crowed  in  sympathy. 

"  Challinge  not  accepted,"  shouted  Belcher  victori- 
ously. "  Merits  o'  the  article  proved.  What  'm  I  bid? 
One  cent — one  cent — one  cent — an'  gone  to  Ephri'm 
Horn — at  one  cent.  All  right,  Ephri'm,  only  don't 
lose  sight  o'  yer  taxes  whilst  ye're  layin'  in  this  'ere 
charmin'  mess  o1  curios.  Duty  first,  Ephri'm,  an* 
dude  afterwards. 

"  Heave  them  rubbers  over  here.  Split  in  the  sides  ? 
They  done  it  laughin'  then.  Who  wants  a  happy, 
cheerful,  tickle-yer-ribs,  consolin'  pair  o'  rubbers  't 
have  split  their  sides  a-laughin'?  Joy  for  the  wounded 
sperrit,  sunshine  f'r  rainy  days,  hope  when  the  flour- 
barrel's  low,  faith  when  the  sink-spout's  clogged,  peace 
when  the  pig  gets  ketched  in  the  fence — what  'm  I  bid? 
What?  What?  Ye  don't  want  'em,  eh?  Ye  want 
ter  go  'round  low-sperrited  with  a  mug  on  ye  like  a 
kite  too  heavy  geared  ter  wobble  up  off  the  'arth,  eh? 


252  POWER    LOT 

No  bid  at  all  f'r  these  'ere  smilin',  beckonin',  welcome- 
all,  weddin'  bell  peal,  orange  peel,  cherry  pie,  cream 
tart,  layer-cake  rubbers,  eh?  'T's  enough  ter  make 
a  man  weep,  ef  he  didn't  have  these  rubbers  right  afore 
him  splittin'  their  sides  a-laughin' ;  I'll  keep  these  'ere 
consolers  right  afore  me  f'r  the  present  whilst  I  rum- 
mage around  here  an'  find  somethin'  fit  ter  put  up  for 
sech  a  raft  o'  owls  as  you  be  to  bid  on. 

"  Here  ye  are.  Jest  what  ye' re  achin'  for.  Here's 
somethin'  next  thing  to  a  caskit — here's  a  enlarged 
photergraph  all  framed  in  pine-needles  o'  old  Sol 
Sloper  himself,  gran'father,  as  ye  all  know,  to  the  man 
what's  havin'  this  auction.  Look  at  them  featur's,  will 
ye?  Ef  ye  want  ter  fill  yer  house  with  melancholly 
here's  somethin'  't  '11  stock  ye  up,  parlor,  settin'-room, 
anty-room,  kitchen,  attic,  cellar,  hen-coop,  an'  enough 
left  to  go  under  the  bed.  He  screwed  a  lot  o'  money 
out  er  poor  folks  in  his  day,  old  Sol  did,  an'  that  'ar 
mouth  o'  his'n  '11  put  ye  in  mind  o'  the  stummickache 
an'  the  hole  in  yer  pocket  every  time  ye  look  at  it.  An' 
as  f'r  that  'ar  nose  o'  his'n " 

"  Belay  thar',"  cried  a  voice. 

"What's  up,  Sol?  "  said  the  auctioneer   firmly. 

"Lay  that  picter  aside.  'T  got  inter  the  mess  by 
mistake." 

"  Same  old  tricks,"  sighed  Belcher  reminiscently ; 
"  old  Sol  was  alias  pokin'  his  nose  in  whar'  there  was 
a  penny  ter  be  made.  But  I'll  lay  him  to  one  side.  It's 
my  rewl  to  speak  well  o'  them  that's  passed  on,  however 
pizen-mean  they  was;  an*  'tain't  reelly  the  respec'ful 
caper  ter  auction  off  yer  fam'ly  art  gall'ry,  Sol,  though 
I  don't  wonder  at  yer  not  wantin'  ter  take  that  ol'  life- 


WHO   WANTS  A  HAPPY,  CHEERFUL,  TICKLE-YER  RIBS, 
CONSOLIV  PAIR  'O   RUBBERS?" 


THE    AUCTION  253 

size  presenterment  o'  misery  an'  gloom  along  with  ye 
on  the  boat;  no  knowin'  when  ye  might  strike  bot- 
tom  " 

"  It  got  in  thar'  by  mistake,  I  say.  Hustle  up  with 
yer  business,  Belcher.  I  hired  ye  to  auction  off,  not 
ter  stand  thar'  an'  parley-voo." 

"  Now,  Sol,  ef  it  hadn't  been  f'r  my  parley-voo, 
keepin'  folks  good-natered  an'  blindin'  of  'em  to  the 
wuthlessness  o'  the  goods,  you'd  'a'  had  the  durndest 
mess  o'  ruck  here  ter  load  up  an'  pitch  over  into  the 
dump ;  an'  my  conscience,  'stead  o'  bein'  heavy  an' 
deceitful,  'd  'a'  been  as  light-hearted  as  these  ol'  gigglin' 
rubbers " 

"  Say,  you  go  ahead  with  yer  work  ef  you  want 
yer  pay." 

"  Correct.  The  sun  has  laid  her  pink-ruffled,  rosy- 
fluted  nightcap  onto  the  piller  o'  rest  all  ready  to 
put  on  the  minute  she's  set  the  buckwheat  cakes  to 
raise,  an'  the  codfish' to  soak,  an'  wound  the  clock,  an' 
turned  in.  Pigs  is  squealin'  from  the  pen,  cows  is 
mooin'  from  the  pastur'.  Hand  me  over  that  thar' 
bedquilt;  let's  heave  the  rest  o'  this  tangled,  loonatic- 
asylum,  crow's  nest  lot  o'  truck  into  'er,  an'  call  it  a 
mess.  Here  we  be — a  whole  quilt  full.  What  'm  I 
bid?  Sight  unseen — treasures  o'  the  mine,  gems  o' 
the  ocean,  products  o'  man's  inventive  natur'  the  world 
over — swell-bodied  pickle  dish,  Aunt  Lucindy's  hymn 
book,  crock  o'  tallow  fat,  tin  lantern  with  one  hinge 
on,  fact'ry-turned  butter  print  representin'  five  mice 
an'  a  dung-shovel,  cullender  f'r  strainin'  squash  with 
the  bottom  right  handy  to  it  all  ready  to  be  soddered 
in,  harf  a  spoonholder  patterned  arfter  the  tower  o' 


254  POWER   LOT 

Babble,  lots  o'  little  pieces  o'  ch'ice  imported  East 
Chelsy  china  jest  fit  to  milk  the  ducks  into — all  here 
— an'  I  ain't  begun  ter  name  'em.  Start  'er  up,  some- 
body. What  'm  I  bid?  Seven  cent — ten  cent — my 
kingdom  come,  you  folks  want  the  'arth  for  nothin'? 

"  Jest  let  me  show  ye — take  this  'ere  quilt  full,  an' 
tie  'er  up,  so-fashion,  an'  when  ye  git  'er  home,  nail 
'er  up  to  the  beam,  an'  stan'  off  an'  strike  'er  with  a 
mawlet,  an'  she'll  make  a  rattle  that  'ud  stop  the  yop 
of  a  whole  houseful  o'  bawlin'  babies  an'  put  'em  ter 
sleep  in  no  time.  What  'm  I  bid  for  this  'ere  'riginal, 
long-pendulum,  gigantical,  cyclone-avalanche,  dyna- 
mite, thunder  an'  lightnin',  Niagry  baby-rattler? 
Twelve  cent— thirteen  cent— fifteen  cent— fifteen— fif- 
teen— an'  gone — to  Mis'  Homer  Millet — at  fifteen  cent. 
An'  well  done,  say  I.  Now  then,  meetin's  broke  up. 
Thank  ye  for  yer  kind  attention.  Farewell.  Adew — 
an'  all  the  rest  o'  the  s'ciety  trimmin's." 

But  the  excitement  was  not  yet  over.  For  Dose 
Ellery's  horse,  exasperated  by  his  long  and  tedious 
anchorage  to  a  fence  post,  at  the  first  loosening  of 
the  hitchline  had  backed  into  the  adjacent  barn  and 
smashed  the  tail-board  of  the  wagon  and  with  it  the 
rickety  incubator  which  Dose  had  bid  off  early  in 
the  afternoon  as  a  mysterious  prize  which  was  to  sprin- 
kle his  dooryard  with  early  chickens. 

"  Never  mind,  Dose,"  said  Captain  Belcher  unoffi- 
cially, on  his  way  from  the  auction  ground.  "  It's 
money  in  yer  pocket  ter  git  shet  o'  the  thing.  Now 
look  here,"  he  lifted  a  row  of  mathematical  fingers. 
"Ye  paid  twenty-five  cents  fr  that  oP  fool-wrack  o' 
an  artificial  breeder,  didn't  ye?  An'  ye'd  a  rot-roasted 


THE    AUCTION  255 

about  fifteen  dozen  o'  eggs  in  'er  'fore  ye'd  a  give  'er 
up  as  a  bad  job  an'  kicked  'er  to  the  sunny  side  o' 
Jericho.  Eggs  at  this  present  minute  is  ten  cents  a 
dozen.  Reckon  on  'er  up,  an'  ye're  a  dollar  an'  a 
quarter  to  the  good,  Dose;  say  nothin'  o'  the  bad 
langwidge  pilin'  up  ag'in  ye  in  the  ledger  what's  so 
full  now  't  the  leds  to  the  cover  won't  hardly  stay 
shet.  You  take  that  dollar  an'  a  quarter  and  git  some 
oats  Pr  the  old  hoss  what's  been  savin'  ye  good 
money." 

"  You  can  talk,  Belcher,"  said  the  sorrowful  Dose ; 
"  twan't  your  money  nor  your  incubator." 

"  I  wouldn't  set  up  any  pelly-loo  over  it,  Dose," 
said  the  woman  with  the  quiltful  of  treasures,  and 
she  paused  so  that  their  rattling  might  not  obstruct 
the  wisdom  and  condolence  of  her  speech.  "  The 
A'mighty  has  writ  it  down  an'  set  it  goin',  that  the'  's 
nothin'  like  a  old  hen  to  raise  chickens ;  an'  when  you 
go  ag'in  natur'  you've  got  your  hands  full — you've 
got  'em  too  full." 

"I  know  that  the  A'mighty  set  it  goin'  that  the'  's 
nothin'  like  a  old  hen  ter  raise  chickens,  but  I  never 
heered  afore  that  He  writ  it  down,"  said  Belcher. 

"  Well,  He  did  so,"  said  the  woman  of  the  quilt ; 
and  she  was  one  of  the  sort  that  could  face  out  Belcher 
or  any  other  mortal. 

"Whar'   abouts?" 

"  In  the  Bible,  Stu  Belcher.    That's  whar'." 

"  I  seen  it  thar'  myself,"  said  a  meek  little  woman, 
who  was  the  quilt-woman's  next  door  neighbor  and 
had  acquired  a  wise  habit  of  courting  her  good-will 
perennially  and  conciliating  her  on  all  occasions. 


256  POWER    LOT 

"What  part  o'  the  Bible?"  persisted  the  foolhardy 
and  thunderous  Belcher. 

"  You  open  the  leds  o'  yourn,  ef  you've  got  one,  an' 
read  tell  you  come  to  it,"  said  the  quilt-woman ;  "  an' 
you'll  see  some  more  things  there  that  you  never  heern 
tell  on  afore,  Stu  Belcher." 

She  went  rattling  down  the  road,  the  meek  woman 
maintaining  a  gait  of  stout  partisanship  at  her  side. 

"  That's  a  cute  gal,"  said  Belcher,  pointing  his 
finger  after  her,  to  Rob,  who,  dispossessed  of  the  babies 
but  with  his  lilacs  still  in  hand,  approached  at  this 
moment ;  "  a  cute  old  gal.  My  mother  an'  father  kind 
o'  wanted  me  ter  make  up  to  'er  when  we  was  young 
folks  together,  but  I  kind  o'  ducked  my  fly  in'- jib  an' 
wriggled  out  o'  the  channel  an'  laid  by  in  the  cove 
till  the  danger  was  over,  an'  she  got  spliced  onto  some- 
body else." 

Captain  Belcher,  being  in  a  meditative  mood,  re- 
garded Rob  and  his  wilted  lilacs  with  unusual  pensive- 
ness  and  interest. 

"  This  gittin'  spliced  is  a  resky  business,  Rob.  Ye 
seem  to  think  a  good  deal  o'  yer  flowers.  Old  Mis' 
Skipper  giv'  'em  to  ye?  " 

"Yes." 

"  She's  of  the  natur'  of  laylocks  herself ;  so's  Mis' 
Belcher,  my  woman;  but  that  old  gal  heavin'  out  o' 
sight  over  yander,  she  's  more  like  them  other  flowers 
ye're  holdin'." 

"Thedelilahsandpineys?" 

"  Aye ;  though  I  suppose  the  proper  way  ter  pro- 
nounce 'em  is  dallyers  and  pe-o-nys;  all  the  same, 
they're  a  flauntin'  high-steppin'  sassy  kind  o'  flower. 


THE    AUCTION  257 

Cuby,  now — Cuby  Tee-boo — she's  a  good  deal  on  the 
dallyer  an'  pe-o-ny  line." 

Rob's  face  was  fine  and  sad;  his  stalwart  physical 
development  at  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  had  edified 
Captain  Belcher  beyond  measure;  it  was  a  winsome 
face,  too,  and  Captain  Belcher  spoke  again. 

"  Perhaps — I  ain't  saying  nothin',"  he  continued 
guardedly ;  "  but  I'm  goin'  to  look  inter  some  matters 
o'  law  a  leetle,  an'  ef  it  don't  make  none  o'  the  inner- 
cent  folks  'round  here  liable,  and  ef  Cuby  kind  o'  huffs 
ye  off  an'  gives  ye  the  cold  shoulder,  way  she  done  ter- 
day — mebby  it  c'n  be  proved  't  that  old  loafin'  demmy- 
rip  of  a  jestice  o'  the  peace  what  was  asked  ter  jine 
you  two  warn't  in  no  condition  for  the  job,  in  which 
case  you  could  each  go  yer  own  way  hawk-free  an' 
freedom-wild.  I  ain't  promisin'  nothin',  but  I'm  mixin' 
up  my  tar  with  an  eye  to  seein'  what  c'n  be  done.  F'r 
I  like  ye,  Rob.  Ye  ain't  no  nincompoop  sech  as  I 
thought  ye  might  be  when  ye  first  hove  in  sight ;  ye're 
as  honest  an'  stanch  a  young  craft  as  I  ever  hailed, 
an'  d — d  ef  I  wouldn't  like  ter  see  ye  free  ter  selec' 
somethin'  tasty  in  the  line  of  a  laylock  f'r  a  partner, 
f'r  I  reckon  ye  kind  o'  favor  'em,  same  as  I  do." 

Rob  smiled  as  he  took  the  captain's  friendly  out- 
stretched hand,  although  he  made  no  confidences  of 
his  own.  He  pursued  his  solitary  way  up  the  Steeps 
in  a  leisurely  manner,  often  pausing,  having  no  incen- 
tive for  hastening  to  any  waiting  heart  the  world 
over,  and  night  having  settled  down  on  the  potato 
patch  and  every  other  field  of  labor.  He  saw  Mrs. 
By  jo  piloting  her  boarder  home  from  the  evening  they 
had  spent  with  Mary.  He  reached  the  Stingaree  house 


258  POWER    LOT 

and  stood  by  the  dim  door,  his  heart  as  peaceful  within 
him  as  it  was  sad  and  without  hope. 

Then  he  knocked  and  entered.  The  light,  though 
only  of  a  feeble  oil  lamp,  appeared  to  dazzle  him.  He 
stood  silent  as  if  dropped  from  the  interlunar  spaces, 
his  wilted  lilacs  clasped  in  his  hand. 

Mary  had  just  seated  herself  by  the  table  to  mend 
some  garments  of  Bate's ;  she  looked  up  as  Rob  en- 
tered with  the  habitual  quick  alarm  of  one  who  had 
learned  to  dread  the  return  of  her  family  from  the 
fleshpots  of  the  River ;  there  was  a  questioning  sor- 
row too  in  her  wide,  dark  eyes.  It  stung  Rob,  but 
now  only  to  a  great  compassion  for  Tier. 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  worry  about  me,"  he  said  ear- 
nestly, simply.  "  I  have  not  touched  a  drop.  I  had  not 
even  thought  of  such  a  possibility  until  I — saw  your 
look.  How  we  have  tried  you — oh,  my  God.  But  I 
do  not  crave  it  any  more,  I  do  not  want  it.  Miss 
Stingaree,  can't  you  trust  me?  You  must  not  worry 
any  more." 

Mary  looked  into  his  clear  eyes,  heard  his  steady, 
impassioned  speech,  saw  above  all  his  thin,  kind,  weary 
face  bending  over  her.  A  compunction  seized  her  that 
was  like  the  surging  of  many  waters  in  her  soul.  She 
— Mary  Stingaree — wanted  in  that  moment  even  to 
put  her  arm  'round  the  poor  fellow's  neck  and  tell  him 
that  she  was  glad  he  had  come  home — to  see  the  great 
light  that  would  waken  on  his  patient,  quiet  face — he, 
who  was  made  for  joy. 

She  only  smiled;  and  Rob  only  thought  her  beauti- 
ful and  that  her  smile  seemed  to  answer  him;  he 
dreamed  of  nothing  more. 


THE    AUCTION  259 

"  Your  flowers,"  she  murmured,  "  are  rather  de- 
jected. Shall  we  put  them  in  some  water?  " 

"  I  carried  them  all  through  the  auction,"  said  Rob. 
"  Mrs.  Skipper  gave  them  to  me,  and  somehow,  you 
know,  I  couldn't  bear  to  throw  them  away." 

Mary  brought  a  vase  of  water  and  arranged  them. 
'*  She  gave  you  some  of  the  very  choicest  from  her 
garden,  too,"  she  mused,  setting  them  off  to  advantage, 
with  deft  touches  of  her  fingers ;  "she  must  be — very 
fond  of  you." 

"  No  more  fond  than  I  am  of  her."  Rob  smiled  back 
sweetly,  and  struggled  politely  and  desperately  to  re- 
press a  yawn,  for  he  had  been  so  long  wandering  in 
the  bright  air,  and  the  wind  that  makes  sleep  had  risen 
wild  with  the  clouds  at  sunset. 

Mary  bit  her  lip,  and  Rob  concluded  that  she  was  in 
some  way  amused  at  his  stupidity.  He  did  not  mind. 
The  stars  were  not  for  him;  if  he  furnished  them 
amusement,  so  much  the  better.  It  must  be  weary 
to  be  stuck  up  on  high  always  in  such  brilliancy  and 
aloofness.  He  took  his  own  small  lamp  from  the  shelf 
and  lit  it. 

"  I'm  so  dead-sleepy,  if  you'll  excuse  me,"  he  said, 
"  I  think  I'll  turn  in.  Good-night,  Miss  Stingaree. 
Pleasant  dreams." 

"  Good-night,  Rob,"  said  Mary,  resuming  her  sor- 
did mending  under  the  fragrance  of  the  beloved  Mrs. 
Skipper's  flowers. 

Rob  had  long  since  ceased  to  pass  any  censures  on 
his  mattress;  it  was  the  best  constructed  and  most 
comfortable  mattress  in  the  world.  He  lay  down  upon 
it  with  the  events  of  the  day,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent, 


260  POWER    LOT 

all  tending  to  lull  him,  and  a  comparatively  insignifi- 
cant item  forming  the  hazy  nucleus  of  his  sinking-off. 

Dose  Ellery's  battered  incubator — Rob  seemed  still 
to  follow  it  without  effort  of  his  own,  along  the  wind- 
ing road  till  it  merged  into  the  quilt-woman's  presence, 
and  her  voice  was  distinct,  though  far  away — "  and 
writ  it  down,  that  the'  's  nothin'  like  a  old  hen  to  raise 
chickens." 

Ah,  she  was  right,  Rob  had  it  now,  without  effort, 
from  the  black-velvet  days,  the  long  curls,  and  the 
nurse  taking  him  to  Sunday  School.  "  Even  as  a 
hen  gathereth  her  chickens  under  her  wings."  There 
was  old  Speckled-Top,  for  instance — Rob  had  watched 
her  recently — a  faithful  and  much-enduring  parent, 
clucking  with  thrilling  anxiety  while  the  whole  brood 
beat  in  under  her  patient  feathers ;  even  the  sad  of  the 
flock,  the  rickety  one,  the  lame  one,  and,  most  lament- 
able of  all,  the  weak,  gay,  smart  one  who  tottered  off 
alone  with  ridiculous  airs  and  flourishes,  gazing  ever 
with  the  same  idiotic  complacency  into  the  maw  of 
destruction ;  but  coming  back,  like  the  rest ;  like  the 
rest,  all  creeping  in  under  the  big  hushed  wings  at 
night  time. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

JACOB  TRAWLES  BREAKS  AWAY 

THE  bleak  spaces,  the  heights  and  depths,  that  had  been 
to  Rob  as  an  enemy  when  he  first  gazed  upon  them, 
were  now  the  strange  unspoken  solace  of  his  soul.  Every- 
where he  turned  God  smote  him  in  the  face — not  with 
fear,  but  with  that  greatness  which  absorbed  his  petty 
griefs  and  challenged  him  from  his  place  in  the  arena 
to  fight  the  fight  out  and,  in  all  simplicity,  to  make  a 
man  of  himself  before  he  died. 

The  first  and  hardest  task  was  to  arrange  for  Cuby's 
home  on  the  hills. 

"  You  are  not  even  so  smar-r-rt  as  I  thought  you 
was,  Rober',"  she  demurred ;  "  you  been  loafin'  'roun' 
Ma'y  Sting'ree  ontill  you  are  dees'greeable  an'  solemn 
lak  a  owl  lak  she  is." 

"  If  I  thought  I  was  like  her " 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  marry  her  then?  Or  has  the 
ol'  doc-tor  made  loaf  to  her?  Me — I  let  you  have  her — 
willin'." 

"  Thank  you,  Cuby,  but  I'm  married  to  you,  I  believe, 
and  I'm  going  to  stand  by  it.  A  Hilton  knows  how  to 
support  his  wife,  and  how  to  treat  her,  too.  You  need 
not  be  afraid.  I've  earned  money  besides  my  board, 
working  out,  and  my  potato  crop  is  as  fine  as  any- 
body's. I'm  going  over  with  Jim  to  Waldeck  before 
long  to  sell  them." 

261 


262  POWER    LOT 

"  Mind  you  this  what  I  tell  you :  I  shall  not  go  to 
stan'  any  preachin'  from  you  nor  Ma'y  Sting'ree.  Me — 
I  boss-a  my  own  house." 

"  And  welcome,  Cuby." 

"  An'  I  lak  not  to  live  'roun'  with  anybody  with  so 
long  a  owl  face  on  them,  neither." 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,"  said  Rob,  smiling.  "  But 
honestly,  I  laugh  more  up  there  on  the  hills.  The  River, 
down  here  takes  me  down,  somehow.  I've  got  so  used 
to  living  up  there,  I  suppose — and  I'm  laughing  half 
the  time,  Cuby.  It's  m  me.  I  couldn't  help  it  if  I 
tried." 

Cuby  appeared  neither  flattered  nor  pleased  by  this 
promising  confession. 

"  I  would  rather — me — to  live  down  here,"  she  said ; 
"  it  is  not  so  stupeed  daid  an'  alive.  But  I  s'pose  I 
must  to  go  where  it  laks  you  to  live." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rob   quietly,  "  that  you  must  do." 

In  spite  of  Cuby's  reluctant  and  much-qualified  wifely 
admission,  Rob  had  a  thought  that  she  in  some  degree, 
with  her  father  and  Bate  as  principals,  were  in  some 
league  of  unappeasable  resentment  toward  him,  that 
they  were  gulling  him  on,  as  their  phrase  was ;  that  they 
would  even  willingly  work  harm  to  him  if  they  could 
do  so  unapprehended. 

Nevertheless  he  believed,  too,  that  when  he  brought 
Cuby  to  the  hills  and  set  up  his  forlorn  home  there,  like 
the  other  forlorn  homes  at  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  his 
domestic  affairs  would  run  on  as  smoothly  as  familiar 
toil  and  drudgery  could  make  them.  Cuby  was  a 
strikingly  pretty  and  attractive  girl,  and  she  had  a 
right,  he  reasoned,  to  hold  a  grudge  against  him,  who 


JACOB    TRAWLES    BREAKS    AWAY     263 

had  compromised  her  by  his  promises  and  attentions  and 
who  now  approached  the  realization  of  the  marriage-tie 
so  half-heartedly. 

Would  Caroline  Treat  marry  old  man  Trawles  and 
rent  her  house  to  Rob?  It  was  the  general  opinion  that 
she  would  do  so,  though — endowed  as  she  was  with  the 
very  genius  of  circumlocution — she  had  never  yet  com- 
mitted herself.  The  pellucid  river  of  her  tongue  con- 
tinued its  diversions  in  pleasant  fields  of  sentiment  and 
all  manner  of  phraseology  without  that  definite  trend 
for  which  all,  and  especially  Rob  with  a  heavy  duty  on 
his  heart,  waited. 

"  Ya-as,  oh,  ya-as,  doctors  has  their  place  in  the 
world,  an'  I  don't  hold  with  them  that  says  they  despise 
the  trade.  I  don't  consider,  as  some  do,  that  doctors 
has  nothin'  to  do  but  set  down  in  a  fat  butter-tub — as 
the  old  sayin'  is — and  make  up  their  charges  ag'in  ye. 
I  consider  't  them  that  talks  so-fashion  has  mighty  lit- 
tle brains  in  their  heads." 

This  defense  of  his  profession  took  place  on  the 
porchsteps  of  Mrs.  By  jo's  house,  when  Doctor  Margate 
had  risen  and  urged  Caroline  to  take  his  chair  and  she 
had  declined  on  the  ground  that  "  the'  's  nothin'  rests  a 
body  when  they're  goin'  'round  neighborly  like  settin' 
down  bet  ween  whiles  on  somebody's  doorstep  an'  sprawlin' 
out  sech  o'  yer  j'ints  an'  hinges  as  needs  favorin',  as 
ye  can't  do  in  a  chair." 

The  doctor  acknowledged  by  a  grave  bow  the  pro- 
priety of  her  statement ;  he  was  delighted  that  she  was 
there,  and  that  the  fact  of  his  being  visible  on  the  porch 
had  not  deterred  her  from  making  this  also  an  objec- 
tive point  in  her  neighborly  dispositions  and  travels.  If 


264  POWER    LOT 

she  was  making  a  set  at  him,  as  the  continued  wearing 
of  the  black  kid  gloves  seemed  to  indicate,  he  believed 
that  it  was  more  from  a  harmless  feminine  fancy  for 
making  another  conquest  than  from  any  designs  upon 
him  or  any  serious  desire  whatever  to  win  him;  and 
events  proved  that  he  was  right. 

"  Oh  my,  ya-as,  doctors  has  their  place.  How  often 
the  call  comes  in  the  middle  o'  the  night,  an*  they  haves 
to  git  up  an'  hunt  'round  to  tackle  the  hoss  by  lantern 
light,  an'  all  the  like  o'  that.  The  night  my  Dan'l  was 
born  was  a  reg'lar  line-gale,  an'  every  time  the  sea 
struck  'er  she  went  under." 

"  It  was  a  boat,  and  not  a  horse,  that  was  going  for 
the  doctor  this  time,  I  presume,  Mrs.  Treet?  "  said  Doc- 
tor Margate,  whose  skill  in  placing  a  lighthouse  here 
and  there  along  the  unfettered  ocean  of  Caroline's 
reminiscences  had  already  won  her  heart. 

"  It  was  so — an'  him  that  small  you  could  put  his 
face  in  a  teacup,  but  growed  up  the  biggest  one  I  had, 
an'  took  no  sass  from  anybody,  from  Owl's  Head  to 
Spry  Bay,  an'  'ud  sail  any  old  rotten  tub  they  dars't 
him  to." 

"  Your  second  son,  I  think  you  told  me,  Mrs.  Treet?  " 

"  Oh  my,  ya-as,  an'  got  a  place  as  mate  on  the  old 
Noll  Wimper  when  he  wa'n't  but  seventeen,  that  was 
of  a  piece  with  all  the  rest,  so  's  one  trip  no  furder 
away  than  Thatcher's  Breakwater  they  laid  in  harbor 
nine  days  stoppin'  up  the  holes  in  'er.  The  wind  's 
kind  o'  bafflin'  to-day,"  added  Mrs.  Treet,  taking  off 
her  soda-advertisement  cap,  which  had  been  blown  to 
one  ear,  and  smoothing  it  with  the  black  gloves,  which 
had  witnessed  funerals  and  weddings,  but  seldom  any 


JACOB    TRAWLES    BREAKS    AWAY     265 

other  social  rite,  so  that  Doctor  Margate  was  forced 
to  regard  their  recent  donning  in  his  behalf  as  a  compli- 
ment almost  sacrificial  in  its  essence. 

"  When  I  think,"  he  said,  with  a  mental  eye  to  her 
union  with  her  faithful  and  desperate  suitor,  Jacob 
Trawles,  "  of  all  that  you  have  borne  and  endured  as  a 
good  wife  and  mother,  Mrs.  Treet,  though  I  have  only 
so  recently  been  honored  with  your  acquaintance  and 
had  the  inestimable  pleasure  of  conversing  with  you, 
yet  even  I  wish  most  earnestly  that  you  might  find  a 
safe  haven  of  care  and  devotion  at  last  in  the  affection 
of  a  good  and  worthy  man." 

Caroline  Treet  blushed,  and  that  handsomely ;  and 
as  it  fell  out,  there  was  no  harm  whatever  in  her  taking 
to  herself  the  flattering  conclusion  that  Doctor  Mar- 
gate was  at  this  very  moment  proposing  to  her. 

"  Thar's  some  things,  however,  ter  be  said  on  the 
other  side,"  she  interposed  as  kindly  as  possible,  "  and 
thar's  them  nearer  home  that  probably  thinks  they  has 
the  best  rights."  An  inadevertent  snigger  was  heard 
from  Mrs.  By  jo  through  the  open  doors  to  the  kitchen. 
But  Caroline  Treet  was  never  suspicious,  and  she  con- 
tinued : 

"  An5 1  never  was  one  to  throw  away  a  good  fowl  from 
my  own  barnyard  for  a  eagle  on  Moon  Mountain — as 
the  sayin'  is — that  might  only  turn  an'  claw  me  when 
I'd  kctched  him."  It  was  the  doctor's  turn  to  blush 
now,  and  Mrs.  Byjo  was  heard  retreating  precipitately 
to  the  woodshed.  "  No,  oh  no — not  as  makin'  any 
likes  between  anybody  and  an  eagle,  for  the'  's  no  sech 
likes  atween  'em ;  but  my  ways  has  allus  been  here  in 
Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  and  I  ain't  got  the  'nclinati. 


266  POWER    LOT 

at  my  time  o*  life  ter  start  up  a  drill  with  any  strange 
sort  o'  folks  that,  like  as  not,  in  a  week's  time,  I'd  wish 
I  hadn't  made  no  sech  a  contrac'." 

"  Probably  it  would  not  be  wise,"  murmured  Doctor 
Margate. 

"  No  more  do  I  think  folks  needs  ter  be  jest  of  an 
age,  two  an'  two,  for  sech  as  that.  An*  ef  Mary 
Sting'ree  c'n  make  up  her  mind  to  ye,  sence  pore  Rob 
Hilton's  out  er  the  runnin',  as  the  sayin'  is,  it's  my 
opinion  she  couldn't  do  no  better,  her  havin'  acquaint- 
ance with  them  ways  that  I  don't  know  nothin'  about, 
so's  it  ain't  likely  she'd  go  mewlin'  an'  squallin*  around 
like  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret,  which  I'm  very  sure  would 
overtake  me — or  worse." 

The  doctor's  altruistic  match-making  speculations 
had  been  innocently  hurled  back  at  his  own  head. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  interest  and  encouragement, 
Mrs.  Treet — if  you  mean  me." 

"  No  other  is  meant,"  replied  Mrs.  Treet,  with  almost 
tender  compunction  now  that  the  danger  to  herself  was 
passed.  "  I'm  one  that  speaks  right  out  what  I  got  to 
say;  my  first  meanin'  is  my  last,  an'  no  nuts  hid  away 
f'r  winter  in  the  bole  o'  the  tree,  as  the  sayin'  is,  but 
plain  an'  open." 

"  Let  me  congratulate  you  on  your  engagement  to 
Mr.  Trawles,"  said  the  doctor,  trying  bold  tactics  in 
return. 

"  WaP,  I  don't  know,"  hesitated  Caroline,  with  the 
dawn  of  prospective  housekeeping  for  two  gleaming 
nevertheless  through  the  discreet  composure  on  her 
comely  face.  "  I'm  one  that  alias  rolls  my  buggy  out 
er  the  shed  'fore  I  go  down  to  the  pastur'  to  ketch  thg 


JACOB    TRAWLES    BREAKS    AWAY     267 

boss,  as  the  sayin'  is.  We  don't  make  much  o'  '  engage- 
ments,' here,  but  as  soon  as  the  word  is  spoke  the  deed 
is  done,  an'  a  dollar  to  the  Jestice,  ef  it  c'n  be  scraped 
up,  tho'  he's  a  pore  triflin'  gump  anyway,  that  never 
knows  what  o'clock  it  is,  and  had  ought  to  be  in  better 
business." 

"  You  don't  consider  him  really  competent  to  marry 
people  ?  "  said  the  wily  doctor.  "  But  he  married  Rob, 
I  think,  to  Miss — Cuby  Tee-bo?  " 

"  Only  Stu  Belcher  an'  the  All-Seein'  knows  who  mar- 
ried them,"  replied  Caroline.  "  I  heered  a  whisper  lately 
that  'twas  Stu  himself;  but  even  so,  joke  or  earnest, 
it's  been  gone  an'  done,  an'  no  gittin'  away  from  it." 

"  Surely,  a  marriage  performed  as  a  joke  would  not 
hold." 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is  whar'  you  live,"  replied  Caro- 
line gravely,  "  but,  here,  it  don't  make  no  difference. 
It's  a  dreadful  solemn  yarn  they  reel  off  over  ye,  an' 
when  it's  gone  through  with,  why,  the  job's  done,  no 
matter  who,  not  even  ef  it  was  no  better  'n  old  Tim 
Tibbits  himself  done  it — thar'  you  be,  an'  not  even  the 
angel  with  the  Book  o'  gold  clasps  could  git  ye  out  of 
it,  or  give  ye  a  grain  o'  comfort  but  what  ye'd  got  ter 
take  the  dose." 

"  This  is  dreadful  to  contemplate,"  said  the  doctor. 
"The  very  thought  of  the  relentlessness  of  it  chills 
me." 

"  You  an'  me's  been  through  the  drill  once  afore," 
said  Caroline.  "  Stu  Belcher's  been  through  it,  and  it 
ain't  likely,  ef  he  done  it,  that  even  sech  a  clown  as 
him  done  sech  a  piece  o'  work  as  that  f'r  a  joke,  he 
too  well  the  meanin*  of  it;  but  anyways,  havin' 


268  POWER    LOT 

done  it,  it  wouldn't  be  a  joke  no  longer,  but  thar'  it 
would  have  ter  stand." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this?  " 

"  I  be." 

It  is  strange,  how,  given  a  certain  atmosphere,  even 
the  imaginings  and  superstitions  of  the  simplest  will 
cast  a  spell  about  a  man.  The  expression  of  Caroline's 
face  constituted  with  the  gloves  on  her  hands  a  sym- 
phony of  decorous  gloom.  Doctor  Margate,  though 
knowing  better,  was  afflicted  for  the  moment  with  a 
sense  of  something  uncanny,  like  the  clanking  of  ghostly 
fetters,  and  moved  restlessly  in .  his  chair  to  obtain  a 
freer  breath ;  when  the  situation  was  relieved  by  a 
scene,  familiar  to  Power  Lot,  now  portraying  itself  to 
the  occupants  of  the  porch  though  they  themselves 
remained  unseen. 

Old  man  Trawles'  tall  form,  in  silk  hat  and  broadcloth 
as  usual,  outlined  a  dignified  progress  toward  that 
bourne  of  his  heart's  desire,  the  home  of  Caroline  Treet. 
Almost  simultaneously  Nell  and  Gid  approached,  one  on 
each  side  of  him.  A  conversation  of  an  obviously  excited 
nature  ensued,  and  the  urbane  form  of  the  old  man  was 
led  back  to  his  own  house,  humiliated  in  bearing  and 
baffled  of  purpose. 

"  Durn  his  old  chicken-liver,"  exclaimed  Caroline 
Treet  impulsively,  the  light  of  action  and  a  saving 
degree  of  affectionate  ardor  waking  in  her  own  eye; 
"  why  in  dough-bat  don't  he  stand  up  for  himself." 

"  Why,  indeed,"  said  the  doctor,  gladly  echoing  the 
living  realities  embodied  in  the  sudden  alertness  of  Mrs. 
Treet's  tone. 

"  I'm  a-goin*  ter  make  for  home,"  she  declared,  ris- 


JACOB    TRAWLES    BREAKS    AWAY     269 

ing,  "  and  when  he  sees  me  makin'  my  passage  over,  ef 
he's  got  any  grit  in  'im  at  all,  he'll  peel  out  o'  thar',  an* 
make  the  kind  o'  tracks  he  wants  ter  make,  straight 
to'ds  whar'  he  wants  ter  make  'em." 

Doctor  Margate  watched  with  an  interest  which  he 
would  not  have  confessed  even  to  himself,  for  the  reap- 
pearance of  Jacob  Trawles.  Within  half  an  hour  this 
took  place,  but  was  deflected  by  a  course  in  the  doctor's 
own  direction. 

*'  A  baffling  wind,  sir,  to-day,"  observed  Jacob 
Trawles. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  doctor  promptly.  "  But  we 
must  not  allow  the  wind  to  baffle  us,  sir.  No." 

"  I'm  makin'  my  far'well  calls  on  my  friends  and 
neighbors,  all  'round — my  far'well  calls.  To-morrow's 
sun  will  probably  see  me  in  etarnity."  The  steady  brown 
eyes  of  Jacob  Trawles  contemplated  the  doctor  with- 
out either  expression  or  reserve. 

"  Ah,  my  good  friend,  so  you  thought  yesterday  when 
you  came  to  bid  us  farewell,  but,  thank  heaven,  you  are 
still  here  with  us.  Why,  man,  you  ought  to  be  all  alive 
with  hope." 

"  Car'line  is  friendly  with  all  but  me.  All  but  me 
can  get  nigh  her.  My  hour  has  come,  sir,"  persisted 
Jacob.  "  I  have  no  desire  to  live.  I  am  making  my 
far'well  calls.  Nell  an'  Gid  have  gone  down  to  the 
River,"  he  remarked  incidentally,  though  in  the  same 
tone  and  holding  the  doctor  with  the  same  unrelaxing 
eye. 

"Well,  we  may  as  well  be  glad  of  that.  I  have 
just  had  a  little  conversation,  by  the  way,  with  Mrs. 
Treet — a  charming  woman.  I  envy  those  who  live 


270  POWER    LOT 

constantly  in  her  vicinity,  for  it  strikes  me  she  is  a 
woman  of  superior  constancy.  With  her,  the  old  friends 
would  be  the  valued  friends,  the  ones  she  held  dearest." 

"I  would  marry  her  to-morrow  ef  Car'line  would 
speak  the  word ;  yes,  ef  she  would  speak  the  word.  But 
women  are  bafflin' — bafflin'  as  the  wind,  sir." 

"  For  some  of  us,  that  is  true;  but  not  for  you,  sir — 
not  for  you.  Do  not  tell  her  that  Nell  and  Gid  have  gone 
to  the  River,"  advised  Doctor  Margate  clearly ;  "  tell 
her  that  you  broke  away.  Women  adore  boldness.  They 
love  it.  Just  say  that  you  broke  away." 

Jacob  surveyed  the  medical  man,  the  dawn  of  a 
hitherto  unrelated  continent  opening  in  his  dun-brown 
eyes,  and  was  speechless.  At  this  juncture  Nell  and  Gid 
advanced  over  the  hill,  having  performed  a  sort  of  ruse 
to  entrap  their  ancient  in  his  amorous  designs. 

"  Go  right  on  and  make  your  call  " — the  hearty 
voice  of  the  doctor  reassured  him.  "  Mrs.  Treet  is  look- 
ing out  from  her  window  yonder,  and  she  will  see  for 
herself  that,  for  her  sake,  you  have  broken  away." 

Jacob  Trawles  set  out  for  Mrs.  Treet's  house  at  a 
gait  unsurpassed  in  any  recent  events  of  his  history, 
not  excepting  the  time  when  Mrs.  By  jo's  prize  steer 
gave  him  chase  across  the  fields.  Nell  and  Gid  were  a 
good  half  mile  to  the  rear.  The  view  was  large  at 
Power  Lot.  They  came  up,  panting,  crossing  the  doc- 
tor's bows,  so  to  speak,  just  as  Jacob  stepped  safe  with 
a  singularly  valiant  mien  on  to  Mrs.  Treet's  doorstep 
— and  further  pursuit  was  hopeless. 

Doctor  Margate,  seemingly  engrossed  in  a  book, 
glanced  up  pleasantly  at  the  sound  of  Nell's  insistent 
loud  breathing  and  saw  her  fanning  her  pert,  insolent 


JACOB    TRAWLES    BREAKS    AWAY     271 

face  with  her  hat,  while  Gid  with  affected  ease  of  man- 
ner stood  stuffing  some  newly  whittled  tobacco  into  the 
crater  of  his  pipe.  Nell  was  as  worldly  a  girl  as  city 
or  country  ever  bred.  She  had  heard  that  the  doctor 
was  rich;  and  the  delightful  romance  of  elderly  men 
stepping  off  the  stage  and  leaving  their  fortunes  to 
young  wives  was  one  of  the  most  pleasing  of  her 
occasional  literary  diversions. 

So  she  smirked  at  the  distinguished  gentleman  with- 
out one  saving  gleam  of  bashfulness  or  timidity. 

"  A  very  breezy  day,"  she  simpered. 

"  Baffling — extremely  so,"  replied  the  doctor,  gal- 
lantly, and  gave  back  his  attention  to  the  pages  of  his 
book. 

A  moment  later,  when  no  human  travesty  was  imposed 
upon  the  greatness  of  the  scene  about  him,  he  pondered 
why,  since  scenery  and  environment  were  said  to  have 
such  a  vital  influence  upon  character,  Power  Lot  should 
have  produced  Bate  Stingaree,  and  Nell  and  Gid,  and 
some  others.  But  his  heart  turned  to  Mary  Stingaree, 
and  all  nature  rose  in  confirmation  of  its  offspring ;  and 
even  of  poor  Rob  Hilton  too,  city-ruined,  pleasure- 
spoiled — and  so  late  adopted,  yet  whom  the  magnitude 
of  the  sea  and  the  priestly  glory  of  the  hills — and  love, 
perhaps,  hopeless  love  of  the  sweet  woman,  for  whom 
his  own.  love  too  was  hopeless — had  awakened  to  infinite 
aspirations. 


CHAPTER  XX 

SIDE-SADDLING    THE    LOG 

OF  the  diplomacy  of  Captain  Stu  Belcher  there  had 
never  been  any  doubt. 

With  a  hail  and  a  roar  he  brought  his  oxen  up  past 
Mrs.  By  jo's,  and  when  he  discovered  Doctor  Mar- 
gate taking  a  stroll  farther  down  the  road  he  drove  his 
chariot  of  four  wheels  and  a  log  in  that  direction  with  a 
mighty  rattling  and  a  swifter  advance  than  usually 
appertains  to  such  a  vehicle. 

"  Git  on,  sir.  Git  on.  Lemme  give  ye  a  lift.  You're 
young  enough  ter  side-saddle  on  a  log,  by  Humfrey, 
an'  will  be  f  r  twenty  years  to  come.  Whoa,  you  gol- 
durn  wireless  telegrafters,  you,"  he  bellowed  at  his 
oxen,  who  found  it  as  difficult  to  stay  their  pace  as  it 
had  been  in  the  first  place  to  acquire  it.  "  Git  right 
up — call  it  side-saddlin',  tho*  we  ain't  got  no  saddles! 
Jest  the  other  side  o'  that  knot,  onless  ye  want  ter  put 
a  skylight  though  yer  trouse's.  You  ain't  got  nobody 
ter  mend  'em  for  ye.  I  have,  an*  I  done  well,  too,  Doctor 
Margerit — I  done  d — n  well." 

"  That's  good,"  said  the  doctor,  riding  the  log  skill- 
fully, and  enjoying  a  most  unaccountable  elation  there- 
fore; it  may  have  been  the  atmosphere,  it  may  have 
been  the  world  around  him,  but  the  cushions  of  his  vic- 
toria and  the  padding  of  his  electric  cab,  as  his  mind 
reverted  to  them,  seemed  base  and  discommodious  in 
272 


SIDE-SADDLING    THE    LOG  273 

comparison.  "  I'm  glad  you  found  a  good  mate.  I 
hope  you  deserve  her.  And  now  look  here,  Captain 
Belcher,  don't  you  let  Robert  Hilton  bring  Cuby  Tee-bo 
up  here  on  the  hills  and  carry  out  that  fr.ke  marriage 
to  her.  I  expect  you  to  look  out  for  that,  or  there'll 
be  sad  consequences  for  you.  Mind  what  I  say — that 
must  not  be  done." 

"  Why,  now,  what  you  got  ag'in  that  pretty  little 
Kanuck?" 

"  Nothing  whatever ;  she's  a  treasure,  she's  a  beauty, 
with  the  man  of  her  heart  to  guide  her  along;  but  Rob 
Hilton  is  not  that  man,  and  she  is  not  the  girl  of  his 
heart.  That  was  a  little  escapade;  they  have  never 
really  chosen  each  other;  the  marriage  was  a  fake,  and 
they've  both  got  a  haunting  suspicion  of  that  fact,  too." 

The  great  Belcher  looked  stoutly,  boldly,  at  the  doc- 
tor ;  the  doctor's  keen  eyes  did  not  flinch. 

"Look  a'  what  your  Rob  Hilton  was  when  he  come 
here,"  at  last  spoke  Belcher,  in  a  tone  of  unappreciated 
merit  that  could  not  help  but  thrill  his  li^ener  with  its 
wonder  and  reproach,  "  an'  then  look  a'  what  I've  made 
of  him." 

"Foamadeof  him?" 

"  Sure  as  herrin'  for  breakfast.  Sure.  He  come 
here,  out  o'  the  booze  settlements  thar'  to  his  native 
town,  a  natterally  struttin'  Shang-hi  rooster  with  Ban- 
tam lightness  o'  dispersition  an'  a  goose  giggle.  An' 
me,  or  somebody  else — call  it  me — tied  him  down  to  this 
dull  'arth  with  a  sense  o'  responsibilities  an'  duties  an* 
sorrers,  an'  all  sech  drippin's  from  the  mother  cow 
necessary  ter  raise  up  a  healthy  calf.  Ain't  that  so?  v 
The  doctor  bit  his  lip,  and  briefly  nodded. 


274  POWER    LOT 

"  He  was  a  derelic',  he  was,"  continued  Belcher, 
"  on  the  drift,  ef  ever  the'  was  one;  an*  somebody — call 
it  me — took  an'  anchored  of  'im  so  tight  he's  been  grub- 
bin'  away  contented  ever  sence,  sweatin'  all  the  microbes 
an*  tomfoolery  out  er  his  sestem,  an'  raisin'  pertaters 
three  dozen  to  the  hill.  An'  now  you  come  over  from 
New  York  an'  want  ter  heave  over  all  his  ballas'  an* 
lighten  up  on  his  moorin's  an'  send  him  bumpin'  an 
careenin'  like  a  durn  tramp  o'  the  seas  ag'in.  My  hum- 
f rey,  but  you  got  a  gall  on  ye." 

Doctor  Margate  laughed  hilariously,  but  Belcher 
regarded  him  with  a  steady  reprobation  and  made  not 
the  slightest  acknowledgment  of  the  ring  of  sympathy 
in  his  tones. 

"  The  Senate  misses  you,  Captain  Belcher — you  don't 
miss  the  Senate  any.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  though,  it 
was  I  who  sent  Robert  Hilton  to  grubbing  in  the  earth, 
and  a  certain  Captain  Jim — a — a — Jim  Turbine  has 
been  a  sort  of  hovering — a — decent  fellow,  with  a 
weather  eye%ut  for  poor  Rob  and  Mary  in  this  Beulah 
land  to  see  that  the  wolves  did  not  get  them  quite ;  and 
you,  Captain  Belcher,  you,  being  in  a  humorous  mood, 
practiced  some  of  your  tremendous  pleasantries  on  poor 
Rob,  putting  him  in  an  insufferably  false  position.  It 
was  what  I  call  a  dastardly  piece  of  work." 

"  Git  out,"  said  Belcher  coolly ;  "  you  a  man  o' 
science,  by  Tamarack,  and  don't  know  what  the  ropes 
is  that  fa'rly  cows  a  man  an'  knocks  all  the  gale  out 
er  him  so's  what  f riskiness  he  has  left  is  no  more  'n  a 
sucklin'  lamp,  jumpin'  on  all  fours  an'  kickin'  out  his 
hin'  legs  at  nothin'.  You  don't  know — that  your  ken- 
try  air  an'  your  honest  t'il  an'  all  yer  cornmeal  mush 


SIDE-SADDLING    THE    LOG  275 

an'  moonshine  wouldn't  V  proved  a  rope  ter  holt  that 
derelic',  no  more  'n  a  strand  o'  knittin'  cotton.  No  sir, 
it  was  me  done  it.  Joke  or  'arnest,  it  was  me  hove  out 
the  right  size  o'  cable — it  was  that  thar'  marriage-tie 
done  the  job." 

The  broad  smile  on  Doctor  Margate's  hypnotized 
countenance  again  culminated  in  explosive  laughter. 

"  The  world  of  political  rivalry,  of  commercial  ac- 
tivity, misses  you,  Captain  Belcher — but  you  do  not 
miss  it.  How  admirably,  for  instance,  you  ride  on  a 
log.  The  pounding  over  rocks  and  ruts  seems  to  give 
you  only  a  firmer  seat  and  a  more  graceful  carriage, 
while  I  joggle  about  like  a  cork,  in  comparison,  and  am 
sometimes  compelled  to  clutch  out  wildly.  Well,  what 
shall  we  do  about  Rob?  Will  you  see  to  it — will  you 
aid  Captain  Jim  Turbine  in  seeing  to  it  (for  I  regret 
to  say  that  I  am  called  away,  and  must  leave  Power 
Lot  to-morrow) — that  housekeeping  for  Rob  and  Cuby 
on  the  hill  shall  never  begin?  Will  you  step  in  at  the 
needful  moment  and  in  full  good  season^  and  deliver 
Rob  of  the  false  burden  he  is  bearing?  I  could  make 
you  considerable  trouble  if  I  chose  to  do  so.  I  shall 
be  proud  to  be  your  friend  and  act  in  unison  with  you 
if  you  will  engage  fairly  to  do  what  I  ask." 

Captain  Belcher  glowered  severely  at  the  doctor, 
then  looked  off  to  the  fir  trees  and  sniffed  a  sniff  of 
scorn. 

"Ye  couldn't  drag  Cuby  Tee-bo  up  to  the  hill  to 
housekeep  along  o'  Rob.  The'  ain't  no  kind  o'  hawser 
ye  could  fashion  'd  haul  that  gal  i*p  there  ter  wash  out 
'er  fryin'pan  an'  hang  out  'er  clo's  accordin'  as  Rob 
Hilton  an'  Ma'y  Sting'ree  an'  Widder  Treet  an*  the 


276  POWER    LOT 

rest  of  'em  thinks  fryin'pans  ought  ter  be  washed 
an'  clo's  hung.  No,  sir.  An'  I  don't  blame  'er.  She'd 
fling  'er  fryin'pan  an5  'er  suds  straight  inter  the  faces 
o'  the  whole  caboodle  of  'em.  An'  I'd  do  the  same 
ef  I  was  her.  Don't  you  worry.  Cuby  Tee-bo  ain't 
ketched  yet." 

"Well,  well!" 

"  You  know  some  things  thar'  whar'  you  come  from, 
an'  you  been  roun'  the  worl'  eatin'  yer  iysters  on  the 
harf-shell  an'  smokin'  yer  Havanas  down  in  the  cabin 
s'loon,  but  I  been  roun'  the  worl'  watchin'  out  from  the 
herric'n  deck,  with  the  rain  hissin'  at  me  an'  the  salt 
bitin'  me,  ontil  I  know  purty  well  what's  up  in  any 
'arthly  latertude  whar'  I  happen  ter  be  drivin'  my  craft 
f'r  the  time  bein'.  That's  me." 

"  I  believe  you." 

"  Now  the'  ain't  no  harm  goin'  ter  happen  ter  Rob 
Hilton  by  way  of  bindin'  of  him  ter  anybody  't  'tnin't 
best  p'rhaps  f'r  him  ter  be  boun'  to,  an'  that  anyways 
don't  want  him.  Meanwhiles  you  let  'im  dig  his  crap 
o'  pertaters.  That's  my  'dvice.  F'r  though  he  don't 
reckon  on  it,  mebby  he's  a-workin'  in  a  holt  on  the 
proud  sperrit  o'  that  ar  high-toned,  scholardly  Ma'y 
Sting'ree,  that  'ud  sure  make  him  toe  the  mark  to  every 
spellin'  match  that's  comin'  to  him  in  this  worl'.  The' 
ain't  nothin'  tunes  up  the  melodium  of  love  in  a  case 
like  hern,  like  a  big,  slow-ponderin',  easy-laughin',  slap- 
the-whole-menagery-in-the-mouth  and  die-for-ye  cuss 
like  Rob  Hilton." 

"  Impossible." 

"  Nothin'  ain't  impossible  from  the  herric'n  deck. 
This  'ere  old  worl'  c'n  kick  up  more  cyclones  to  the 


SIDE-SADDLING    THE    LOG  277 

squar'  inch  an'  s'prise  more  folks  to  the  squar'  minute 
than  any  other  worl'  I  ever  see." 

"True." 

"An  ef  the'  is  anythin'  drorin'  her  to-wards  him, 
it's  jest  that  good,  set-up-straight-in-meetin',  none-o'- 
the-preserves-thank-ye,  small-piece-o'-pie-f'r-me-please 
way  in  which  he  is  a-regardin'  his  oblegations  to  Cuby 
Tee-bo.  See?  As  f'r  Cuby,  she's  a  good  gal,  though 
she's  a  wild  one  and  a  gay  one,  she  is,  an'  her  mettle 
is  up  ter  somethin'  tough  't  knows  how  ter  sail  a  boat. 
D'  ye  ketch  on?  " 

"  No." 

"  Wai',  she  wants  Jim,  that's  who  she  wants." 

"  He  seems  a  decent  sort  of  fellow." 

"'Decent  sort  o'  feller?'  By  the  Great  Nor'easter, 
what  are  you  a-lookin'  f'r?  Why,  Jim  Turbine  an' 
me  c'd  run  this  whole  conternent  ef  we  was  only  giv' 
a  fa'r  post  o'  observation  an'  c'd  find  some  chairs  our 
size  to  set  in.  I  reckon  you  don't  know  all  the'  is  ter 
be  knowed  about  Jim  Turbine  an'  me." 

The  doctor  was  silent. 

"  Jim  Turbine  c'n  go  out  on  a  sea  't  spells  dead-man 
to  ary  other  mortal,  an'  beat  in  home  through  the  hell- 
racket  o'  the  elerments  smokin'  his  pipe  at  sundown, 
wishin'  't  the  wind  'ud  breeze  so  't  there  'd  be  somethin' 
doin'.  That's  me  an'  Jim.  He  c'n  make  a  fool  o'  him- 
self ev'ry  day  in  the  week,  like  he's  been  a-doin'  readin' 
books  an'  drulin'  at  the  mouth  about  the  '  beauties  o' 
natur',  an'  all  sech,  tell  he's  got  a  notion  he  wants 
somethin'  high-toneder  'n  what  his  bringin'  up  '11  allow 
him;  but  jest  wait  tell  the  gale  strikes  him  fa'r  abeam 
an'  he'll  reel  'round  an'  right  up  on  an  even  keel  ev'ry 


278  POWER    LOT 

time.  Ef  he  ever  does  git  drowned  he  won't  git 
drownded — he'll  show  up  somewhar'.  An*  that's  me 
an'  Jim,  an'  be  d — d  to  ye." 

Captain  Belcher  refilled  his  pipe,  his  cowhide  boots 
swaying  freely  in  sympathy  with  the  perils  of  his  pres- 
ent method  of  transit;  a  jolt  of  unusual  violence,  over 
a  stump,  separated  him  for  a  space  from  his  affinity 
with  the  log;  he  descended,  however,  precisely  in  his 
former  chosen  seat,  uninterrupted  in  his  attentions  to 
his  pipe  and  wholly  unperturbed.  But  the  doctor,  as 
a  result  of  the  catastrophe,  sat  down  abruptly  in  the 
road,  where  he  contemplated  in  some  bewilderment  for 
the  moment  his  unexpected  change  of  base. 

"Shall  I  stop  'em?"  Captain  Belcher  called  back 
to  him  cheerfully,  "  or  c'n  ye  jump  on  while  the  train's 
movin'?  " 

"  I  won't  board  the  train  again,  thank  you.  I  need 
exercise,"  replied  Doctor  Margate  dryly,  as  he  rose. 
"  I'll  walk  back  home." 

"  Hold  on,"  yelled  the  captain,  himself  descending 
and  shouting  and  belaboring  a  halt  on  his  oxen ;  "  I 
want  a  word  with  ye  'fore  ye  go.  Ye're  a  man  o' 
straight  good  sense,  an'  I  respec'  ye.  I've  been  hove 
off  myself  by  a  stump  lesser  size  'n  that." 

"  I  haven't  been  in  training,  you  see,"  replied  the 
doctor,  with  no  trace  of  vexation  in  his  manner  or  his 
tone. 

"  No,  ye  ain't  had  the  'dvantages  a  man  like  you 
ought  ter  had,"  said  Belcher,  standing  regally  thought- 
ful, the  veteran  of  many  scars,  of  well-sustained  ship- 
wreck, and  of  a  hide  seemingly  impregnable  at  last  to 
all  save  added  windburn.  "  Ye'd  rate  along  o'  me  an' 


SIDE-SADDLING    THE    LOG  279 

Jim  ef  ye  'd  had  harf  a  chance  in  the  worP."  He  medi- 
tated, and  in  spite  of  the  dictates  of  sound  reason  and 
common  sense  against  such  unconscionable  boasting, 
the  doctor  admired  him  and  was  more  than  half  inclined 
to  take  him  at  his  own  estimation. 

"  The  question  is,"  said  Belcher  at  last,  withdrawin0 
his  gaze  from  a  profound  contemplation  of  the  distant 
Bay  of  Fundy,  "  be  you  a-goin'  ter  keep  yer  mouth 
shet?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,  if  I  see  fit  to  open  it,"  replied 
Doctor  Margate. 

"  That's  the  talk,"  exclaimed  Belcher  approvingly ; 
"  but  be  ye  goin'  ter  see  fit  ter  keep  it  shet — that's  the 
question.  Come  now,  as  the  gospil  says,  an'  le's  figger 
this  out  tergether.  Do  ye  want  ter  tell  Rob  Hilton 
— ter-morrer,  f'r  instance — that  the'  's  nothin'  bindin' 
of  him  here?  F'r  Tie  ain't  got  no  notion  't  thar'  's  any 
chance  for  him  along  o'  Ma'y  Sting'ree,  no  more  'n 
/  have  of  ailyenatin'  the  'ffections  o'  the  wife  o'  the  Old 
Man  in  the  Moon." 

"  That  settles  it." 

"  An'  I  doubt  ef  Ma'y  Sting'ree  has  took  the  idee 
inter  her  head  one  bit  yit  either.  No  sir — it's  me  't 
has  figgered  out  this  match." 

"Not  you  and  Jim?" 

"  Jim's  sore — sore  as  a  bile.  He  wusships  the 
groun'  Ma'y  treads  on.  But  he  ain't  f'r  her.  Jim's 
got  many  a  wil'  sea  yit  ter  sail  afore  Tie  dies.  Ef  Jim 
goes  ter  homin',  it  had  ought  ter  be  with  some  mid- 
ocean  bird  o'  his  own  breed.  Jim  thinks  he'd  like  ter 
git  civerlized  and  live  ashore,  but  he  wouldn't — them 
ol'  whitecaps  out  thar'  'ud  call  him,  an*  he'd  ruffle 


280  POWER    LOT 

his  feathers  an'  stretch  his  neck,  an'  off  he'd  go.  Ho- 
hum,  it's  tough  on  Jim ;  but  he  won't  go  under ;  ye 
needn't  ter  werry  'bout  Jim." 

"  I  won't.  I  am  more  concerned  about  the  match 
you  propose  to  make  between  Miss  Stingaree  and  Rob 
Hilton." 

"  Easy,  easy !  Whar'  thar'  's  a  woman  in  the  calker- 
lation  the'  's  no  knowin'  when  ye  may  look  out  an' 
find  yer  weather-vane  's  clean  blowed  off  the  barn. 
Easy  now.  But  you  let  Rob  bide  an'  keep  on  workin' 
f'r  a  while.  He  couldn't  git  Cuby  ef  he  tried.  An' 
he  won't  git  put  in  no  box,  now  I  promise  ye,  ef  that  '11 
do.  I  promise  ye." 

"  Well." 

"  An'  you'll  keep  yer  mouth  shet  about  any  little 
frolick  anybody  mon't  'a'  played?  I  ain't  sayin'  who. 
You'll  lay  low  tell  the  storm's  over,  an'  the  flyin'jib's 
run  up,  an'  all's  well  some  way  'r  another,  won't  ye? 
That's  what  I  want  ter  know." 

"  Why,  yes,  under  the  circumstances,  and  consider- 
ing that  you  promise  to  make  it  all  clear  as  daylight 
at  the  auspicious  moment,  I  think  I  may  safely  say  I 
will  leave  that  for  the  present  to  your  judgment — and 
your  conscience.  But  the  time  must  come  soon,  Cap- 
tain Belcher." 

"  Easy !  easy !  This  is  goin'  ter  be  a  tejus  mess  o' 
ropes,  mebby,  an*  we  got  ter  keep  both  eyes  shet  whilst 
we  squint  with  one  and  wink  with  t'other.  Wai',  I'm 
sorry  ye  ain't  goin'  ter  stay  long  enough  ter  come 
'round  an'  git  acquainted  with  my  folks,  Doctor." 

"  But  at  least  I  congratulate  myself,  Captain 
Belcher,  on  having  become  acquainted  with  you." 


SIDE-SADDLING    THE    LOG  281 

"Wai,  I  won't  deny  that  ye'll  find  me  thirty-six 
inches  ter  the  yard  with  plenty  over  ter  'low  f'r  shrink- 
age, ev'ry  time.  Come  'n  see  us  ag'in.  Do.  Sorry 
our  ways  in  this  worl'  did  n'  lie  par'lel,  Doctor,"  con- 
cluded Captain  Belcher  with  a  splendid,  dismissing, 
commiserating  wave  of  the  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  TEST 

IT  had  come  time  for  Rob  to  sail  over  to  Waldeck  with 
me  to  turn  his  crop  of  potatoes  into  good  banknotes. 
He  was  as  elated  as  a  boy — not  with  the  prospect  of 
renting  a  house  for  Cuby  and  laying  in  flour  and  fish 
for  the  winter ;  no,  but  with  the  thought  of  the  day's 
sail.  A  long  day,  it  meant  to  him,  a  sort  of  epitome 
of  freedom  and  adventure  before  he  put  on  the  yoke 
again  and  settled  down  to  the  drag. 

"Jim,"  he  said,  as  the  Mary  leaped  through  the 
Gut  at  high  tide,  like  a  bird  shivering  to  try  her  wings 
over  seas,  "  I  wish  we  could  sail  her  to  Europe.  Gad, 
I  wish  we  could  sail  her  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  If 
I  were  rich  as  I  was  once  I'd  have  a  yacht — I  will,  when 
my  ship  comes  in  again;  and,  by  Heaven,  the  voyages 
we'll  go,  Jim." 

There  was  the  trouble.  There  was  no  meek,  strug- 
gling look  in  Rob's  eyes,  now ;  there  was  the  "  keen  " 
for  mad  freedom.  The  sea  does  that.  The  hills,  with 
the  sea  to  glimpse  afar,  give  you  steadiness,  which  is 
greatest  of  all,  I  know ;  but  take  a  boat  that  sails  true, 
and  a  wind  that  forces  the  joy  of  health  and  daring 
into  your  very  breath,  and  changing  shores  that  lure 
you  on  and  on,  and  you  understand  how  runaways  feel ; 
you  understand  it  well.  You  even  feel,  without  God's 
good  dart  of  shame,  the  marauding  heart  that  has  its 
282 


THE    TEST  283 

own  will,  in  stinging  air  and  over  wild  seas,  and  for  its 
own  will  would  die  vaingloriously,  reckless  and  glad  as 
its  brother  elements. 

And  Rob  had  been  prisoned  away  from  the  mighty 
galloping  horse  of  the  deep  that  had  so  often  flung  out 
a  beckoning  mane  to  him.  This  was  his  first  sail  since 
I  had  brought  him  to  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us — a  dissi- 
pated lordling  crouched  ruefully  in  the  stern  of  my 
boat;  now  he  stood  erect  and  fearless,  as  handsome  a 
fellow  as  ever  I  set  eyes  upon.  But  the  spirit  of  the 
salt,  wide  waste  about  him  and  the  way  my  little  vessel 
ripped  the  foam  up  had  entered  into  him.  This  it 
was  to  be  a  man,  to  sail  out  thus.  Not  the  meek  bear- 
ing of  a  yoke. 

I  had  foreseen  the  temptation  this  whole  day's  busi- 
ness would  be  to  Rob.  The  train  went  from  Waldeck 
in  the  afternoon,  at  an  hour  when  we  must  inevita- 
bly be  there  waiting  the  tide.  His  pockets  would 
be  full  of  money  once  more.  I  had  talked  it  over  with 
Mary. 

"  Take  him,  Jim,"  she  said.  "  He  must  be  put  to 
the  test  sometime."  And  then,  very  gravely,  as  if 
thinking  to  herself  far  away,  she  said,  "  He  will  stand." 
But  women  know  neither  the  sea  nor  the  heart  of  a 
man. 

"  He  will  stand,"  she  had  said.  What  did  she  care,  I 
wondered.  The  light  in  her  eyes  was  no  more  than 
nature  often  sent  there  to  startle  people  with  its  beauty, 
no  more  for  him  than  for  the  rest  of  the  universe  whom 
the  imperious  heart  of  the  woman  condoned  with  its 
sublime  faith  and  pity. 

Rob  was  not  going  to  stand — I  felt  it  in  my  bones 


*84  POWER    LOT 

as  I  regarded  him  now.  I  loved  the  lad.  I  wanted  him 
to  bear  the  test. 

"  The  sea,  and  the  wide  bearin's  of  it,  has  tempted 
me  lots  o'  times,  Rob,"  I  said.  "  But  I've  hung  'round. 
Tell  the  truth,  I've  felt  a  sort  of  concern  about  Mary 
Stingaree.  Bate  might — strike  her.  Or  she  might  be 
left  there,  sick  and  alone.  Some  harm  might  happen 
her;  and — though  she's  nothing  to  me,  and  never  can 
be,  except  the  best  friend  I  ever  had,  yet  she  kind  o' 
draws  me — she  holds  me.  Many's  the  time  she's  told 
me,  sharp,  meaning  it  for  my  sake,  I  know,  to  go  off 
where  I  could  do  better ;  but  I  sort  of  hung  'round 
within  hailing  distance,  as  ye  might  say." 

"  She's  worthy  of  it,"  said  Rob,  and  his  flushed 
tanned  face  straightened  out  drawn  and  thin  as  he 
spoke. 

"  Jim,  you  understand.  If  it  was  for  her,  if  she  were 
my  wife — oh,  God — living  and  digging  there  in  Power 
Lot — anything  wouldn't  be  hard.  It  would  be  great, 
Jim.  But  I'm  up  against  something  rocky  that  I  don't 
clearly  understand,  either;  and  the  very  thought  of  it 
sickens  me,  old  man." 

"  Well,  I've  looked  at  it  this  way :  if  I  could  care  for 
her  and  guard  her  a  bit,  if  I  could  only  win  her  respect ; 
since  I  could  not  have  her  love,  her  respect  is  a  mighty 
good  gauge  to  go  by  when  a  man's  tryin' — to  make  a 
man  of  himself." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rob,  and  a  tingling  look  of  pain  turned 
his  face  red  again.  "  Yes,  that's  true,  Jim.  And  you 
have  been  a  guard  and  a  help  to  her,  in  ways  some  of 
us  know,  though  she  doesn't  begin  to  know  it  all.  But 
as  for  me,  Jim,  I've  been  more  of  a  worry  to  her  than 


THE    TEST  285 

anything  else;  and  if  she  does  finally  marry  Doctor 
Margate — for  he  is  one  not  to  give  it  up — and  if  she 
goes  away,  I — I  don't  know  as  I  could  face  it  out,  what 
I've  undertaken  to  do ;  I  don't  know  as  it  would  be  of 
any  use." 

"  Well,  if  you  were  just  doing  it  for  her  to  look  at, 
and  approve,  and  perhaps  applaud  ye,  I  don't  believe 
she  would  respect  ye  for  that.  But  if  you've  made  a 
contract  between  yourself  and  the  A'mighty  to  fight 
this  fight  out,  like  the  splendid  gentleman  and  wrestler 
that  you  are,  Rob  Hilton,  why,  of  course,  you  wouldn't 
give  up  your  contract,  whether  Mary  Stingaree  was 
looking  on  or  not.  Besides,  I  don't  know  that  it's  love 
she  feels  for  ye — I  don't  suppose  it  is — but  it's  an  in- 
terest; and  I  tell  ye  right  now,  it  would  break  her 
heart  if  you  cut  the  traces  or  bungled  your  job  or  came 
home  stuttering  and  silly  with  drink,  now." 

"  I  reckon  she  would  not  break  her  heart  much  over 
me,"  said  Rob,  with  a  smile  poignant  with  the  hopeless 
sweetness  of  the  thought. 

"  Then  you  don't  know  her." 

"  That  isn't  love,"  said  poor  Rob ;  "  that's  philan- 
thropy, pure  and  simple.  I  don't  give  a  tuppence 
for  it." 

"  Mary  makes  out  they're  one  and  the  same  thing — 
something  steadf 'st — something  to  hold  by ;  and,  by 
God,  I  believe  she's  right.  Look  at  Bate — he  thinks 
sometimes  he  loves  Cuby,  but  what  does  that  kind  of 
love  amount  to?  " 

I  had  forgotten  for  the  instant  Rob's  relation  to 
that  matter.  He  turned  cold  and  white.  Then  he 
spoke,  through  set  teeth. 


286  POWER    LOT 

"  Jim,  do  you  consider  that  I'm  like  Bate  Stingaree?  " 

"  No,  lad — not  for  a  minute." 

The  slumbering  storm  in  his  blue  eyes  turned  them 
black;  then  he  bit  his  lips  and  melted. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  "  I  was  going  to  make  a  chum 
of  him  when  I  first  came — and  there's  excuse  for  him ; 
but  I  had  a  great  chance  in  the  world.  Oh,  Jim,  what 
a  fool  I've  been !  What  a  fool,  fool,  fool !  I  wish  you'd 
lose  your  rudder,  I  wish  you'd  lose  your  bearings,  and 
we  could  get  carried  where  we  should  never  hear  of 
Power  Lot,  nor  any  other  day  of  my  past  life  again." 

"  We're  right  there,  now.  You  take  the  helm  o* 
yerself  an'  yer  life  this  blessed  minute,  an'  it'll  be  just 
the  same  as  if  ye'd  always  steered." 

"What?    That  isn't  true." 

"  I'm  running  myself  on  wrong  principles,  then.  But 
I  ain't  running  on  wrong  principles.  I  know  what  I'm 
about.  So  long  as  Pm  steering  steady,  so  long  as  I'm 
steering  true,  and  my  hand  fails  not  and  my  heart 
quails  not,  who's  a-going  to  throw  it  up  at  me  that  I 
been  shipwrecked  once  on  a  time,  or  run  aground  on  the 
shoals  somewheres?  What  do  I  care  if  they  do?  Who 
don't  get  wrecked  in  one  way  'r  another?  That  ain't 
the  point;  it's  what  I'm  doing  now  concerns  me;  and 
just  because  I  had  my  fling  on  the  rocks  an'  swallered 
brine  till  I  was  pretty  near  done  for,  I  know  the  sea 
better,  an'  better  how  to  sail  'er  now.  I  know  better 
where  the  rocks  an'  shoals  lays  for  me,  Rob." 

"  Well,  that  may  be  true." 

"  I'm  steerin'  steadier,  I'm  steerin'  truer  'n  what  I 
was,  and  I  shall  come  into  port  by  an'  by  like  a  man 
ought  to  come.  Best  o'  all,  maybe,  I  got  a  ballas'  o' 


THE    TEST  287 

pity  along  with  me  now  f'r  all  manner  o'  shipwrecked 
men  everywheres.  I  ain't  lost  nothin',  so  's  I  mind  my 
helm  now — I  got  gain  by  it." 

"  Sure,  it  would  brace  a  fellow  up  if  he  could  look 
at  it  that  way." 

"  Rob,  I  kind  o'  wonder  at  the  way  you  flat  out  some- 
times, and  I  wish  to  thunder  you'd  get  up  on  your  hind 
legs  and  stay  there,  and  steer  yourself  on,  with  a 
don't-give-a-d — n  f  r  everythin'  'xceptin5  your  straight 
course,  like  the  brave  cuss  you  be." 

Rob  tried  to  smile,  but  something  of  this  bright  day 
had  turned  to  ashes ;  he  was  thinking  still  of  the  woman 
he  had  no  hope  to  win,  and  maybe  he  was  thinking  it 
would  make  no  difference,  therefore,  if  he  shirked  the 
whole  fight.  I  tried  to  buoy  myself  up  to  hope  for 
the  best.  In  my  soul  I  felt  that  there  was  trouble 
coming.  He  recovered  from  his  fit  of  depression,  but 
ah,  the  reckless,  laughing  wind,  the  tossing  sea,  and 
freedom.  Never  siren  sang  to  tempted  man  as  the 
elements  sang  to  Rob  that  day. 

He  did  not  seem  to  crave  the  drink,  even  when  he  had 
an  opportunity  that  it  was  not  considered  one  bit  po- 
lite, among  the  Waldeckers,  to  refuse.  When  we  had 
sold  his  potatoes  at  a  fancy  price  at  Burt's  market — 
and  they  were  fancy  potatoes  too,  having  turned  out 
extra  smooth  and  pretty,  as  things  sometimes  do  for 
children  and  folks  who  don't  understand  the  game — 
Burt  said,  friendly : 

"  Come  on  over  across  and  take  somethin'  to  swash 
the  mildew  out  o'  yer  throats.  Come  on."  He  was 
putting  on  his  coat  to  go  out  with  us.  I  wished  that 
I'd  had  a  chance  to  tip  the  wink  to  Burt  beforehand 


288  POWER    LOT 

not  to  be  offering  his  hospitalities.  I  need  not  have 
had  any  fears  on  that  score. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Rob,  as  monotonous 
and  indifferent  as  you've  sometimes  heard  a  boy  speak 
his  piece  in  school.  "  I  don't  drink.  I  don't  care  for 
it.  I'll  wait  for  you,  Jim." 

"  Oh,  Jim  ain't  got  into  long  pants  yet,  neither," 
said  Burt,  laughing.  "  The  invitation  was  to  you, 
young  man.  Wai',  it's  a  fool  thing,  this  drinkin'. 
Give  my  regards  to  the  rest  o'  the  infant  class,"  he 
remarked  drolly,  in  a  low  tone,  as  we  went  out. 

Rob  drew  me  out  of  sight  with  him  into  the  lee  of 
an  old  shop,  and  counted  his  money  again.  Two  hun- 
dred dollars  in  banknotes. 

"  And  not  long  ago  I  was  swiping  an  egg  to  get  a 
postage  stamp,  Jim,"  he  chuckled,  and  his  white  teeth 
shone. 

He  took  out  a  twenty-dollar  note,  put  it  in  his 
purse,  and  stowed  away  the  rest  in  an  inside  pocket, 
with  a  double  row  of  pins — which  I  was  able  to  make 
over  to  him  from  the  lapel  of  my  coat — as  a  further 
safeguard  to  his  treasure. 

"  I  am  going  into  potato- raising,"  said  Rob,  joy- 
ously, as  we  swung  off.  "  I'm  going  into  the  business 
on  a  big  scale,  Jim.  Your  Burt,  there,  told  me  he'd 
take  and  export  any  quantity  o5  such  potatoes  as  those 
I  brought  him.  I'll  have  more  land  when  I  rent  the 
Treet  place,  and  another  season,  I'll  have  a  thousand 
dollars  " — he  patted  his  breast,  where  the  money  lay — 
"  where  now  I've  only  two  hundred.  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  I'd  rent  more  land,  and  set  other  people  to  work  for 
me.  Good  Lord !  "  spoke  this  son  of  a  speculator,  "  I 


THE    TEST  289 

should  think  you  fellows  would  have  seen  there's  money 
in  it,  Jim.  Here  am  I,  a  greenhorn  at  the  business,  and 
there's  not  another  man  in  Power  Lot,  bluffs  or  River, 
that  '11  stow  away  two  hundred  dollars  in  his  pocket 
this  season — what  are  you  nil  thinking  of,  I  wonder." 

So  elated  was  he,  he  had  even  forgotten  the  vora- 
cious hunger  on  which  we  had  passed  some  sympathetic 
remarks  only  a  little  while  before. 

"  Well,  Rob,  I  was  thinking  of  dinner ;  and  there'll 
be  lots  of  dinners  to  be  looked  out  for,  if  you  stand  as 
the  head  of  a  family  this  coming  winter,  and  possible 
illness,  and  chances  of  poor  luck,  and  all  that.  Go 
careful  on  that  two  hundred  dollars,  Rob." 

The  sordid  future  rose  before  him  again,  and  per- 
haps I  did  unwisely  to  harp  on  that  string  of  mean 
necessity  and  hard  duty.  Rob's  inflation  as  a  moneyed 
individual,  and — for  the  first  time  in  his  life — a  sporter 
of  banknotes  earned  through  his  own  efforts,  abun- 
dantly sustained  him,  though. 

"  Come  on,  old  man,"  he  said,  putting  an  arm  on  my 
shoulder,  "  I'm  starving.  It's  my  treat  this  time,  mind 
you.  I  owe  all  I  got  to  you,  anyway.  We'll  blow  out 
for  all  the  grub  they  can  show  up.  Where  are  the 
frescoed  dining-halls  of  Waldeck,  eh?  " 

Now,  I  had  quite  a  bit  of  money  saved  in  the  bank — 
.not  much,  but  more  than  Rob  had  snugged  against  his 
breast.  But  he  had  all  the  air  of  a  rich  man.  It  was 
ingrained  in  him,  and  a  sort  of  ease  and  grace,  born 
to  him  when  he  was  born ;  it  did  not  make  any  difference 
that  his  hands  had  grown  rough,  and  that  linen  collars 
and  cuffs  were  a  dream  of  the  past.  He  looked  every 
inch  an  easy  gentleman,  and  as  if  he  were  sporting  in 


290  POWER    LOT 

flannel  shirt  and  the  potato-business  just  for  the  lark 
of  the  thing. 

We  had  our  meal  together  at  the  only  restaurant  in 
Waldeck,  a  coarse  place,  where  the  draught  sweeping 
in  from  the  water  on  one  side,  and  the  infernal  suction 
of  a  quarry-well  on  the  other,  was  so  stiff  that  in  one 
instance  it  actually  took  up  a  corner  of  the  tablecloth 
and  with  it  knocked  the  vinegar  cruet  into  the  sugar 
bowl  and  swept  the  pepper-box  clean  off  on  to  the 
floor. 

Rob  was  hilarious,  notwithstanding  that  the  tea  was 
weak.  The  admiring  waitress  hovered  over  him  as  if 
he  had  been  a  young  god. 

"Shall  I  shet  the  windows,  sir?"  she  said,  looking 
exclusively  at  Rob. 

"  No,"  said  Rob.  "  Great  Tamarack,  no !  We  live 
on  wind — that's  where  we  hail  from — this  is  nothing  but 
a  cooling  zephyr  to  us.  No,  sweet  maiden — let  her 
blow." 

He  emptied  the  remainder  of  the  vinegar  into  the 
sugar-bowl  and  stirred  it  briskly.  "  Bring  us  some 
soda,  if  you  please,  fair  maiden,"  he  observed,  still 
briskly  stirring,  "  and  we  will  show  you  some  superla- 
tive *  fizz.'  Hasten — the  compound  waits  only  for  the 
enlivening  application  of  saleratus."  The  gale  blew 
his  fair  hair  in  a  tangle  over  his  forehead,  and  his 
teeth  gleamed.  The  girl  giggled  ecstatically,  as  though 
such  wit  had  never  before  scintillated  through  that  base 
apartment. 

"  I  tell  you,"  she  murmured,  with  an  air  of  confid- 
ing her  very  soul  to  Rob,  "  if  you  want  that — '  fizz,'  as 
you  call  it — you  can  get  it  fine  over  to  the  hotel.  This 


THE    TEST  291 

place  ain't  got  no  style  to  it,  anyway.  You  can  get 
champagne,  or  anything  you  want,  over  to  the  hotel; 
it's  a  lot  better  than  this  place,  and  stylisher."  She 
tossed  her  head,  as  one  with  cosmopolitan  experience 
though  circumscribed  in  vocation  by  low  necessity. 

Rob  put  on  a  sober  look.  "  You  ought  not  to  tell 
that  to  young  fellows  from  the  country,"  said  he  whim- 
sically. "  However,  I  am  not  going  to  the  hotel.  I'm 
a  married  man,  I  believe,  and  I  am  going  down  here 
to  the  furniture  store  to  get  some  housekeeping  things 
for  my  Tootsy-Wootsy.  Isn't  that  so,  Captain  Tur- 
bine? Come,  Captain,  however  regretfully,  I  suppose 
we  must  be  on  the  move." 

He  haled  me  forth  by  my  official  title,  leaving  a  fee 
for  the  girl  on  the  table.  She  picked  it  up,  but  did  not 
even  thank  him:  she  watched  his  retreat  from  the  door 
so  sadly. 

"  Come  on,  Jim,"  said  the  light-hearted  Rob,  "  I'm 
going  to  blow  out  this  twenty  dollars  in  some  parlor 
knick-knacks  to  please  Cuby." 

The  very  fact  that  he  urged  me  to  go  with  him  scat- 
tered every  lingering  doubt  in  my  mind  as  to  his  re- 
liability and  good  faith.  I  had  business  of  my  own  to 
attend  to,  and  we  had  only  an  hour  before  the  tide 
would  serve  for  sailing  back.  As  for  the  train,  Rob 
had  never  once  looked  that  way,  though  there  was  a 
great  noise  of  loading  freight  from  the  wharf  in  the 
distance,  and  the  engine  stood  puffing  there  in  the 
yards. 

I  went  on  about  my  own  affairs.  At  two  o'clock  I 
went  down  to  the  boat,  as  agreed.  There  were  Rob's 
parlor  gimcracks  nicely  stowed  away,  and  I  whistled 


292  POWER    LOT 

about,  getting  ready  to  run  up  sail,  sure  every  moment 
I'd  see  his  bright  face  appearing  to  me. 

Rob  did  not  come.  It  was  time  for  the  train  to  pull 
out  from  the  yard.  The  lad  might  be  watching  among 
the  loafers  there.  He  was  a  great  hand  for  a  laugh 
and  a  joke  with  anybody  and  a  bit  of  excitement.  So 
I  marched  over,  but  there  was  no  handsome,  stalwart 
Rob  in  that  slouching  group.  Something  got  a  hard 
grip  at  my  heart.  I  rushed  through  every  car  on  the 
train,  searching.  I  knew  the  conductor.  He  let  me 
work  my  way,  tumbling  and  searching,  through  the 
freight. 

"What's  up,  Jim?"  he  called  to  me,  and  "All 
aboard,"  in  the  same  breath,  and  the  train  was  moving 
when  I  jumped. 

Probably  Rob  was  down  in  the  boat  waiting  for  me. 
Still  I  did  not  doubt  him,  and  I  turned,  shamefaced, 
trusting  that  he  had  not  seen  my  crazy  leap  from  the 
train.  I  could  see  the  boat  stepping  idly  to  her  anchor 
in  the  harbor,  but  no  blond  head  shining  there.  Still 
I  did  not  doubt.  He  was  loitering  about  somewhere  in 
the  dirty  little  town ;  some  tobacconist's,  or  candy  shop 
(with  a  special  thought  to  Rhody),  or  some  dog  fight, 
or  Punch  and  Judy  show — that  would  be  Rob,  nursing 
out  his  holiday  to  the  fullest  extent. 

So  I  paced  up  and  down  the  one  "  Main  "  street, 
looking  in  everywhere,  and  making  my  affectedly  light- 
hearted  inquiry. 

"  Seen  a  tall  fellow? — good-looking,  light  hair,  blue 
flannel  shirt,  sort  of  showy  necktie ;  thought  you  might 
'a*  seen  him  swaggering  along  somewheres — fine-look- 
ing fcllu.v,  you'd  'a'  noticed  him." 


THE    TEST  293 

"  Seen  him  around  with  you,  whiles  back,"  was  the 
invariable  response ;  "  ain't  seen  him  since." 

Search  was  made  at  the  hotel ;  there  too  I  knew  the 
proprietor.  Back  and  forth  from  the  town  to  the 
boat  I  went.  At  dusk  I  entered  the  forlorn  restaurant 
again. 

"  You  seen  my  friend  anywhere?  "  I  said  carelessly, 
to  the  girl. 

"  Te,  he !  "  she  tittered,  "  I  thought  you'd  lose  him. 
No,  /  ain't  seen  him,"  she  added,  with  the  regretful 
accents  of  truth. 

I  ordered  my  supper  as  the  natural  excuse  for  my 
entrance. 

"  '  Tootsy-Wootsy'  '11  have  to  wait  a  while  for  her 
pretty  things,"  said  Miss,  knowingly,  as  she  brought 
me  my  tea.  "  Hubby's  over  to  the  hotel  getting  some 
1  fizz,'  after  all,  I  reckon." 

"  No,"  said  I,  cheerily ;  "  he  ain't  that  kind." 

And  I  forced  down  my  supper,  though  the  food  choked 
me. 

Then,  from  Main  Street  to  the  boat,  with  an  air  of 
loafing  and  sauntering,  I  alternated,  like  the  pendulum 
of  a  clock.  I  gave  up  the  boat,  and  paced  the  street 
till  the  last  light  went  out  and  every  shed  and  store  was 
black  as  the  night  staring  coldly  at  me;  and  then  I 
began  to  curse  Rob  in  my  soul,  for  a  weak  liar  and  a 
coward. 

I  took  a  room  at  the  hotel  and  turned  in  to  bed.  I 
could  not  sleep.  My  love  for  Rob  had  turned  to  stone. 
I  longed  to  see  him  beaten,  thrashed,  and  I  would  have 
borne  a  hand  in  doing  it.  But  to  go  back  without  him 
to-morrow,  the  cause  of  his  ruin ;  who  had  so  trusted 


294  POWER    LOT 

him,  and  who  would  have  given  my  lifcblood  for  him — 
to  go  back  without  him,  and  to  meet  Mary ! 

I  ground  my  teeth.  "  The  cur,  he  is,"  I  said,  "  the 
thankless,  foolish,  selfish,  miserable  cur."  And  thus 
anchored  on  the  rock  of  indignation,  with  weariness  in 
every  bone,  I  sank  off  into  a  troubled  sleep. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

"  HE    WILL   STAND  " 

IT  was   a  drizzly,   foggy  morning,  scarcely   daylight, 
when  a  repeated  knocking  at  my  door  wakened  me. 

I  cared  no  more  than  as  if  I  had  been  lead — my  heart 
was  leaden ;  my  senses,  numbed  by  chagrin  and  despair, 
were  leaden.  It  might  be  afternoon — I  might  be  sleep- 
ing over  still  another  tide  for  all  I  cared. 

The  knocking  grew  more  distinct. 

"  Who  is  there — and  what  do  ye  want?  "  I  growled. 

"  Jim,"  said  a  voice,  and  I  started  from  my  bed, 
for  it  was  Rob's  voice,  only  husky  and  weak,  like  the 
ghost  of  Rob. 

"  Drunk !  "  I  muttered  to  myself.  But  it  was  he — 
Rob — and  I  sprang  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

Such  a  sight  never  saw  I  before  in  the  gray  of  the 
morning.  I  drew  him  in,  horrified,  and  locked  the  door 
behind  us.  His  hair  was  matted  with  blood,  his  face 
bruised  and  caked  with  mire  and  blood,  his  shirt  and 
trousers  were  in  rags,  and  one  hand  hung  helpless  at 
his  side. 

"  My  God,  Rob !  "  said  I,  and  began  the  work  of  bath- 
ing and  binding  up  his  wounds  without  another  word. 
When  I  had  his  face  recognizable  again,  and  found 
that  his  arm  was  not  broken,  only  so  painfully  sprained 
that  it  was  almost  worse,  he  lay  back  on  the  pillows,  his 
lips  drawn  and  pinched  with  suffering,  his  eyes  sunken 
like  a  man's  who  has  been  to  the  grave  itself. 
295 


296  POWER    LOT 

"  Jim,"  said  he  hoarsely,  "  I  never  touched  a  drop. 
Jim — I  give  you  my  word,  before  my  Creator,  there 
was  no  drink — in  this  night's  business." 

"  I  believe  you,  Rob.  Never  mind  about  explaining 
now.  Rest  a  bit." 

"  And — they  took  my  money — every  scrap  of  it." 

"What!     In  God's  name " 

"  I  went — after  we  parted  there — to  get  the  things 
for  Cuby — and  I  carried  them  down  to  the  boat — 

"  Wait  a  bit,  wait  a  bit,  laddie— let's  fix  these  pillows 
here.  There's  time  enough,  wait  a  little,  now " 

"  No — I  want  to  tell  you.  Then  I  went  back  to  the 
town  and  bought  some  little  trifles — for  Mrs.  Skipper 
and  Rhody — and  I  bought  half-a-dozen  cigars.  I'm 
such  a  dam'  fool  of  a  young  one,  Jim,  I'd  had  that  pleas- 
ing my  mind  and  tickling  my  shopping-list,  all  the  time, 
how  I'd  get  half-a-dozen  prime  cigars  for  you  and  me 
to  smoke  going  home." 

He  smiled,  and  I  let  him  take  his  own  way  for  reel- 
ing off  his  yarn,  for  it  was  lying  heavy  on  him  till  it 
was  spoken.  He  was  there — Rob,  himself — with  truth 
shining  like  sunlight  on  his  poor,  hurt  face ;  and  if  any 
degree  of  the  high  joy  and  gush  of  love  and  yearning 
that  I  felt  for  him  then  showed  in  the  smile  I  gave  him 
back,  he  must  have  thought  I  was  a  soft  one  for  a  son 
of  Neptune. 

"  And  I  got  them,"  he  went  on,  "  and  coming  out  of 
the  shop — you  know  how  the  quarry  runs  along  there 
— dark — back  of  the  shops — for  a  ways,  along  there 
— I  thought,  if  I  could  get  into  an  alleyway  maybe 
it  would  shut  off  the  wind  enough  for  me  to  strike  a 
match — and  light  up  my  old  pipe. 


"HE    WILL    STAND"  297 

"  I  was  holding  the  match  protected  in  the  scoop  of 
my  hand — and  was  leaning  forward  to  light  up — when 
a  blow  with  a  loaded  club  struck  me — terribly — on  the 
head — and,  Jim,  the  last  thing  I  saw,  and  all  I  saw  in 
that  flash  as  I  fell — hush — you  come  nearer — I  saw 
Bate  Stingaree's  hand.  I  know  that  hand — and  I  saw 
it.  It  was  there,  Jim,  over  me — as  sure  as  judgment 
day — I  know  that  hand — and  I  saw  it. 

"  The  next  thing  I  knew — when  I  came  to — I  was 
lying  among  the  rocks  and  mire — at  the  bottom  of  that 
quarry ;  but  where  I  was,  at  first,  I  did  not  know.  Jim, 
it  was  hell — black — dead  o'  night — and  one  arm  no 
good — only  sending  tortures  through  me.  I  felt  the 
mire  around  me — and  I  crawled  and  felt  the  rocks  each 
side ;  and  it  may  have  been — I  don't  know  how  long — 
before  the  blow  came  back  to  me,  and  the  sight,  sure, 
of  that  dreadful,  familiar  hand — and  I  realized  that  I 
had  been  thrown  over  into  the  quarry  for  dead ;  and  if 
I'd  come  to  half  an  hour  later,  the  tide  that  fills  up 
everything  would  have  covered  me,  too. 

"  I  did  not  cry  out  nor  call — I  thought  they  might 
be  hiding  somewhere  about.  I  tried  to  climb  out,  but 
in  the  darkness  I  had  to  go  by  feeling,  and  only  one 
arm  to  work  with — and  I'd  fall  back  and  have  to  begin 
again.  How  long  it  seemed  down  there,  Jim,  only  God 
knows — till  morning  came  enough  so  I  could  see  the 
outline  of  things — faint — and  then  I  managed  to  climb 
up ;  and  I  reasoned  it  out  you  would  be  here  at  the 
hotel.  My  body  was  in  agony ;  but  I  think  that 
blow " 

Rob  actually  laughed,  and  the  sunken  blue  eyes 
darkened  wide  with  mirth — "  I  think  that  blow  has 


298  POWER    LOT 

cleared  my  head  as  nothing  ever  did  before,  Jim,  and 
knocked  all  fear  out  of  me,  for  big  things  or  little, 
forevermore.  I  saw  things  clear.  I  limped  up  here — 
the  janitor  and  his  boy  were  pottering  around  gather- 
ing some  kindlings  in  the  sheds,  and  the  back  doors 
were  open.  I  passed  in,  not  caring  whether  they  saw 
me  or  not — they  did  not  see  me — no  one  else  was  stir- 
ring. I  went  up  to  the  slate  where  they  register  guests 
in  the  office,  and  found  your  name  and  the  number  of 
your  room — and  here  I  am.  God  bless  you,  Jim,  is  it 
really  your  face  looking  down  at  me?  I  thought  once 
I  should  die  there  without  getting  to  you.  And 
I'm  cleaned  out — a  pauper  again — a  penniless,  crip- 
pled  " 

"  You  are  not  going  to  be  crippled,"  said  I,  "  and 
in  a  week's  time  you'll  be  as  pretty  as  ever.  But  I'm 
going  out  to  get  some  liniment  and  bandages  for 
that  arm  of  yours.  You  lie  back  now  and  take  a 
nap." 

"  Since  you  give  me  my  choice,"  said  Rob,  still  carry- 
ing on  by  way  of  a  joke,  though  his  teeth  were  chatter- 
ing with  pain,  "  I'll  wait  to  take  my  nap  till  you've 
brought  something  to  ease  this  arm.  Say,  Jim,  it  hurts 
so  I  can  fairly  hear  it  ache.  Kite  out — that's  a  good 
fellow — and  hurry  up." 

I  had  a  doctor  there  within  the  next  fifteen  minutes. 

"  Better  give  him  a  little  nip  o'  something  to  brace 
him  up  while  I  find  out  what's  the  matter  with  this  arm," 
said  the  doctor  significantly;  "he's  pretty  well  run 
down." 

"  Oh,  you  get  to  work,  sir,  I  don't  want  any  dose," 
Rob  replied  impatiently.  "  I'm  game — this  isn't  a  pin- 


"HE    WILL    STAND"  299 

prick  to  what  I've  been  through,  soul  and  body.  Only 
hurry  up,  please — get  to  work." 

Sawbones  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  stretched  the 
poor  arm,  and  worked  it  this  way  and  that;  and  Rob, 
white  as  death,  with  his  teeth  clenched,  never  uttered  a 
moan.  Relief  came  presently,  though,  from  the  ap- 
plications the  good  man  put  on,  and  Rob  turned  over 
on  the  pillows  and  slept  like  an  infant. 

I  locked  the  bedroom  door  behind  me,  and  left  word 
no  one  was  to  disturb  the  occupant  there.  My  purpose 
was  to  get  to  the  bank  for  a  couple  o'  hundred  dollars 
that  I  meant  should  go  back  to  Power  Lot  in  Rob's 
pocket,  after  all;  and  to  get  to  the  furnishing  store 
for  some  whole  clothes  for  the  lad.  I  found  it  was  still 
too  early  to  get  admission  either  to  bank  or  shops. 
So  I  crept  up  the  hotel  stairs  again.  I  was  for  all  the 
world  like  an  old  bird  hovering  over  a  nest.  I  turned 
the  key  softly  and  took  a  look  at  my  fledgling.  He  was 
sleeping  so  deeply,  free  from  pain,  you  could  almost 
see  the  bliss  of  his  rest  in  a  halo  'round  him.  I  drew 
the  blinds  down,  against  the  sun  should  rise  that  far, 
for  it  was  already  making  signs  of  burning  up  through 
the  fog;  then  I  went  out  again  on  tiptoe,  locking  my 
tragic  young  potato-farmer  safe  behind  me. 

The  wind  was  beginning  to  leap  up  from  the  nor'- 
west  a  bit,  and  my  heart  was  taking  a  swing  with  it. 
Rob  had  been  true,  and  by  the  miracle  of  God  his 
bruised  body  was  safe  alive.  I'd  never  cease  to  be 
grateful  for  that  to  my  dying  day.  I  went  down  to 
my  boat  and  overhauled  her,  to  have  all  in  readiness 
for  sailing  if  Rob  should  waken  fit  for  it  later  in  the 
day.  As  I  went  back  along  Main  Street  I  heard  the 


300  POWKR    LOT 

usual  clattering  in  the  restaurant,  and  the  impulse  took 
me  to  turn  in  there.  By  the  time  I  had  discussed  some 
breakfast,  and  put  a  few  observations  to  the  table-girl, 
the  bank  would  be  open  and  I  could  get  through  busi- 
ness and  make  back  to  feed  and  clothe  the  nestling,  who 
would  be  eager  for  trying  his  wings  again  as  soon  as 
possible. 

"  Wai',"  said  the  girl  commiseratingly,  "  here  you 
be  again,  all  by  your  lonesome.  I  guess  he  found  the 
hotel,  all  right,  and  hasn't  had  to  use  no  saleratus  to 
make  his  drink  beady — te-he !  He's  takin'  a  good,  long 
nap  this  mornin',  I  reckon?  " 

"  That's  just  where  you  are  mistaken,"  said  I  gayly ; 
"  he  hasn't  touched  a  drop  of  drink  of  any  kind.  Re's 
all  right." 

Her  face  fell,  and  she  said  insolently,  "  Why  doesn't 
he  come  and  have  breakfast  with  you,  then  ?  " 

"Oh,  he's  a  swell;  he'll  take  his  breakfast  at  the 
hotel,"  I  made  answer ;  "  he's  something  rather  choice." 
She  set  the  remaining  dishes  down  very  noisily  at  my 
plate. 

"  You  didn't  see  any  other  friends  o*  mine  in  here 
yesterday,  did  ye?  "  said  I,  with  a  bald  attempt  at 
being  genial. 

"  You  must  be  a  lunkhead,"  she  rejoined,  "  how  do  I 
know  who  your  friends  are?  " 

"  Sure.  You're  right.  But,  for  instance  now,  a 
dark  fellow,  sort  of  surly  acting, — wonder  if  you  saw 
him?" 

"  Guess  he  wasn't  anxious  for  your  company.  Him 
and  another  man  sneaked  in  here,  soon  as  you  and 
your  *  choice  '  article  left." 


"HE    WILL    STAND"  301 

"  Him  and  the  Frenchman?  " 

"  French  or  Dutch  or  Portugee,  what  do  I  care?  " 

"  Of  course  not."  I  placed  a  fee  for  her  on  the 
table  and  spoke  lightly.  "  They  did  not  say  among 
themselves  where  they  left  their  boat,  did  they?  She 
wasn't  visible  in  harbor." 

"No,"  said  she  shortly.  "They  acted  like  a  pair 
of  sneaks,  and  gobbled  their  vittles,  and  lit  out.  Thank 
ye  " — she  picked  up  the  silver,  but  hustled  about  as 
though  it  were  my  business  to  be  gone.  Rob  would 
never  have  had  such  brusque  treatment  at  her  hands. 
Little  I  cared.  Rob's  vision  of  the  familiar  hand  as  he 
fell  was  no  hallucination.  If  the  blow  had  cleared  his 
head,  it  had  mazed  and  staggered  mine. 

That  Bate  mingled  some  idiocy  with  his  brutality, 
I  knew.  But  how  could  he  follow  us  to  Waldeck  and 
dine  immediately  after  we  did  at  the  restaurant,  and 
expect  to  go  undetected  of  those  criminating  circum- 
stances? Then  I  remembered  the  slow,  morbid  working 
of  his  mind,  with  hate  and  revenge  paramount  as  a 
motive;  he  had  meant,  no  doubt,  to  "  make  a  good  job 
of  it,"  and  by  a  hand's  turn  luck  might  have  favored 
him.  A  few  moments  more  and  the  tide  would  have 
sucked  in  over  Rob. 

If  the  lad's  body  had  been  discovered  at  ebb  tide  the 
conclusion  would  have  been  that  he  had  staggered  along 
the  quarry  edge  hopelessly  drunk,  and  had  fallen  over ; 
his  wounds  would  all  have  been  accounted  for  by  that 
fact.  It  was  that  one  glimmer  of  a  marked  hand  before 
Rob's  reeling  senses  that  fixed  the  crime  at  Bate's  door. 
Not  only  would  he  have  thrown  Rob's  body  to  de- 
struction, but  the  fair  name  for  which  the  boy  had 


802  POWER    LOT 

struggled  so  painfully  and  long;  that  would  have  gone 
down,  too,  with  the  undeserved  stigma  of  "  drunkard  " 
at  last  and  of  one  faithless  and  fallen, — who  had  proven 
so  faithful,  who,  in  spite  of  every  temptation,  had 
stood  erect  and  true. 

And  one  complication  of  it  was  that  Mary  must  not 
know  the  details  of  this  day's  work.  To  shield  and 
rescue  Bate  she  had  spent  life  and  substance.  To  save 
him  in  the  end  was,  after  all,  her  chief  earthly  ambition. 
She  must  not  know.  I  would  seek  him  out  by  himself, 
and  I  would  send  terror  through  his  soul.  He  should 
walk  straight  hereafter  for  fear  of  me.  But  Mary 
must  not  know. 

So  I  did  my  errands  in  the  town,  winning  out  to  this 
conclusion  of  the  matter,  and  with  the  next  tide  Rob 
and  I  set  sail  for  home.  It  was  not  till  we  had  clipped 
past  Barstake  Island  to  a  fair  wind  that  Rob,  fingering 
over  his  new  jacket  with  his  able  hand,  found  the 
pocket  secured  by  two  rows  of  pins,  just  as  the  old  one 
had  been.  Blushing  and  trembling,  he  worked  in  and 
found  the  roll  of  two  hundred  dollars. 

"  D — n  you,  Jim,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  queer  voice  that 
belied  the  malediction  of  his  words ;  and  he  put  his  head 
down  and  sobbed  before  he  could  speak  again. 

"  You  know  what  I  meant,  Jim.  You're  enough  to 
make  a  man  want  to  live,  just  because  there  is  such  a 
one  as  you  to  be  his  friend.  But  I  can't  take  it,  Jim." 

"  See  here,"  said  I,  reasonable,  "  there  ain't  any 
sentiment  about  this.  I'd  give  my  blood  for  you,  lad, 
and  all  I  have  for  you,  for  that  matter.  You're  true. 
But  it  isn't  that.  We've  got  to  go  on,  you  and  I,  as 
if  nothing  had  happened.  Mary  must  not  know  about 


"HE    WILL    STAND"  303 

this  business  of  Bate's.  She  never  would  know  from 
you " 

I  stopped  him,  for  the  splendid  loyalty  and  vindica- 
tion that  blazed  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  know  that,  Rob.  Never  would  she  have  known 
from  you.  I  don't  need  your  word.  I  would  take  my 
dying  oath  on  it,  on  the  Bible,  she  never  would  know, 
from  you.  But  we've  got  to  act  this  thing  out  reason- 
able. You've  got  to  go  home  to  Mary's  with  your 
money.  And,  Rob,  don't  you  fret ;  you'll  pay  it  back  to 
me.  I  am  thinking,"  I  sighed,  "  it  may  be  easier  than 
you  think,  now,  for  you  to  pay  it  back  to  me  sometime. 
That  '11  be  all  right.  Meanwhile,  you  and  I  have  got 
to  work  together  in  this  business,  hand  in  hand." 

"Jim,  I'm  a  great  ass  of  a  baby,  with  my  cheap 
pride,  and  all ;  but  I  wanted  to  say  that  first  to  you — 
*  Mary  must  not  know.'  I've  said  it  over  and  over  to 
myself  times  enough.  /  wanted  to  say  it  to  you." 

"  You  didn't  need  to.    I  knew  it  of  you." 

"  Jim,  if  I  don't  pay  it  back,  it  won't  be  for  lack  of 
anything  a  man  can  do  or  bear  or  deny  himself." 

"  I  know,  Rob.     You  needn't  to  talk." 

We  went  up  to  the  Stingaree  house  together.  I 
wanted  to  do  that,  and  Rob  let  me — Rob,  with  his  face 
patched  up  with  courtplaster  and  his  arm  in  a  sling. 
It  was  night,  and  for  some  reasons,  we  were  glad  of 
that. 

Well,  if  I'm  anything  in  line  of  descent  from  a 
wizard,  I'm  surely  mighty  soft-born  of  humanity,  too, 
so  far  as  reading  people's  hearts  from  their  faces  go ; 
and  something  got  settled  in  my  heart  for  good  and 
all  when  Mary  Stingaree  opened  the  door  and  met  us. 


304  POWER    LOT 

Some  lives  seem,  anyway,  just  to  run  a  predestined 
course  of  "  giving  up,"  "  giving  up,"  and,  on  any 
occasion  when  they  wouldn't  do  it  voluntarily,  having 
to  give  up,  until  it  turns  by  way  of  being  a  sort  of  meat 
and  drink  to  them !  you  don't  know  but  there's  a  fashion 
of  enjoyment  of  its  own  goes  along  with  it,  like  you 
can  acquire  a  taste  for  bitter  things,  and  make  the 
best  of  it,  and  reckon  it's  all  going  to  sum  up  for 
good,  somehow,  somewhere. 

It  was  not  for  old  Jim  Turbine — that  look  in  Mary's 
eyes ;  it  was  not  for  any  thought  in  her  heart  for  the 
great  doctor;  it  was  a  look  straight  out  of  her  soul, 
that  she  could  not  help,  for  that  big,  winsome,  tragic- 
joy  of  a  young  man,  Robert  Hilton. 

And  the  deuce  of  it  was — see  what  a  pair  of  haggard 
eyes  and  a  score  or  so  of  bruises  will  do  for  a  fellow ! — 
he  was  not  one  bit  of  a  simpleton  to  her  any  more.  I 
believe,  true,  that  blow  and  fall  had  sent  him  up  instead 
of  down,  after  all.  He  was  a  man  glorious  from  head 
to  foot,  a  sort  of  veteran,  grave-faced,  square-shoul- 
dered, plastered  up  though  he  was,  with  his  maimed 
arm ;  he  met  her  look  straight. 

"  Miss  Stingaree,"  said  he,  "  I  met  with  an  accident. 
But  on  my  word  as  a  man,  it  was  not  drink.  I  never 
touched  a  drop." 

"  I'm  witness  to  that,"  said  I. 

"  Rob's  word  does  not  need  any  witness,"  said  Mary, 
very  softly,  very  gently,  to  us  both. 

Tears  of  triumph  and  joy  sprang  to  Rob's  eyes. 
And  I  too — well,  I  was  content,  as  I  trudged  home  alone 
in  the  dark.  She,  who  had  been  my  learned  lady,  and 
above  all  flesh,  was  mortal  after  all.  How  sweet  to 


"HE    WILL    STAND"  305 

ecstasy,  that  thought  might  be  to  the  mortal  who  had 
made  her  mortal,  a  man  can  imagine.  But  Rob  was  too 
slow,  and  had  been  too  deeply  hurt  once  upon  a  time  by 
her  incisively  expressed  disapproval  of  him.  Once  he 
would  have  thrown  himself  to  earth  with  joy,  just  to 
touch  the  hem  of  her  dress ;  now  she  was  too  far  away 
for  him  to  make  the  interpretation  of  her  kindness  one 
of  common  mortal  accessibility. 

Moreover,  he  was  bound,  and  she  was  the  lost  glory 
of  his  dreams  afar  off  in  the  sweet  elysium  of  the  things 
that  "  cannot  be." 

"  My  lady,"  said  I,  tramping  on  alone,  "  and  may  it 
all  be  as  you  wish,  and  it  shall  be,  if  Jim  Turbine  can 
help ;  but  it  was  a  proud  heart  you  struck  low  in  Rob 
Hilton — as  proud  as  it  was  simple  and  humble,  if  I 
may  so  speak.  And  your  soulful  eyes  will  have  to  tell 
their  story  more  than  once  before  he'll  look  into  them 
with  any  hope  to  find  his  heaven." 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

THE    SUNDAY-SCHOOL    EXPOSITION 

IT  was  wonderful  to  me,  how  the  Baptist  church  at 
the  River  got  Cuby  Tee-bo  to  act  the  part  of  "  Grief  " 
in  their  big  Sunday-school  exposition. 

The  girl  was  troubled  and  lonely,  and  they  began  to 
take  an  interest  in  her  to  draw  her  in ;  perhaps  they 
saw  the  only  way  was  to  ascribe  a  prominent  and  showy 
part  to  her ;  and  she  consented  with  quiet  dignity,  and 
acted  her  part  with  an  eclat  that  knocked  the  rest  of 
them  stupid  with  admiration  and  amaze. 

For  me,  it  is  all  a  tender  memory  to  me  now;  but 
we  were  a  hawk-wild  set  all  along  the  shore  there ;  and 
it  is  not  because  I  am  making  fun,  the  Lord  knows,  but 
if  you  would  relate  truthfully  what  takes  place,  why, 
you  must  just  relate  it,  that  is  all ;  and  to  my  thinking, 
mirth  is  not  anything  light ;  it's  just  the  fall  of  the  rain- 
drops where  mighty  clouds  have  rolled  and  lightnings 
clashed. 

Anyway,  I  am  but  relating. 

Old  man  Trawles  was  the  only  one  they  considered 
fit  to  act  as  chairman,  on  account  of  his  natural  dignity 
and  faithfulness  in  past  attendance,  besides  having  the 
only  real  tall  silk  hat  anywhere  in  that  region ;  and 
perhaps  most  of  all,  the  fact  that  he  was  going  to  marry 
Caroline  Treet  mantled  him  with  a  sort  of  general  in- 
terest and  sanctity. 

And  he  consented  to  conduct  the  Sunday-school  ex- 

306 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL    EXPOSITION        307 

position  just  as  readily  as  Cuby  had  to  act  the  principal 
part  in  it. 

"Now,  Jacob,"  said  Mrs.  Treet,  with  a  maiden 
blush  at  this  use  of  her  fiance's  name,  "when  you 
git  up  thar'  to  lead  the  meetin'  don't  you  go  to  reelin' 
off  too  cunnin'  and  long  a  yarn  o'  yer  own ;  but  tickle 
'em  up  so's  they'll  allus  be  likely  to  put  ye  at  the  head. 
What  will  tickle  'em  most  is  few  words  from  you,  for 
what  they'll  come  to  see  and  hear  is  young  folks  play- 
actin',  and  especially  how  that  dancin'  sea-squall  an' 
careenin'  flyin'jib  of  a  Cuby  Tee-bo  '11  look  actin'  out 
a  lesson  in  Scriptur'.  Say  no  more,  for  although  I 
know  the  mericle  o'  the  grain  o'  mustard  seed,  yet  I 
have  to  own  up  to  you  here  an'  now — an'  seek  f'rgive- 
ness  ef  I  need  ter  be  f 'rgiven — that  I  could  as  easy  cry 
as  laugh." 

"The  sayin'  is,  *  Whosoever  will,'  Car'line,"  said 
sweet  little  Mrs.  Skipper,  who  was  also  making  a  call  at 
the  house  of  the  bride-elect.  "  I've  heerd  that  the  synod 
refused  to  help  keep  up  the  meet'n-house  down  thar' 
any  longer  ef  they  didn't  make  't  least  one  convart  a 
year." 

"  Ef  they  knew  Cuby,"  said  Caroline,  speaking  from 
a  muse  of  simple  meditation,  "  they'd  ought  ter  allow 
a  five-year  lease  jest  on  makin*  a  convart  out  o'  her 
alone,  ef  the'  wa'n't  no  other  dippin'  in  all  that  len'th 
o'  time,  I  mean.  But  I  guess  it  won't  git  so  fur  as  that. 
What  Cuby  wants  ter  do  is  ter  show  off  her  smartness. 
But  don't  speak  the  word;  f'r  I  hold  by  the  grain  o' 
mustard  seed  all  the  same,  an'  nobody's  a-goin'  ter  rip 
the  mericles  out  o'  my  Bible.  Whilst  I  hold  by  it  all, 
I'm  plumb  firmer  on  them  than  I  be  on  ary  other  thing." 


308  POWER    LOT 

"  It  don't  need  any  mericle  to  save  you,  Caroline," 
said  her  betrothed,  gazing  complacently  upon  her. 

"  That's  as  may  be,"  assented  Caroline,  with  a  look 
of  considerable  gratification ;  "  though  my  conniptions 
when  my  sin  fulness  first  come  home  to  me  an'  the 
preacher  made  out  his  descriptions  o'  hell  wasn't  out- 
done by  any  at  the  goslin'  age  I  then  was.  Thar'  was 
some  tang  to  that  kind  o'  yeast,  an'  it  has  leavened 
on  me  up  ever  sence,  though  my  c'nvictions  has  learned 
to  spread  themselves  out  in  a  calmer  aspect,  sech  as  is 
more  becomin'  to  my  years." 

Jacob  was  about  to  assert  that  her  years  were  still 
green  and  tender,  but  she  waved  him  aside  with  a 
communication  of  her  own. 

"  Do  you,  Jacob,  whatever  the  goin's-on  may  be 
down  't  the  exp'sition,  do  you  make  quick  an'  haughty 
work  o'  the  part  they've  giv'  you  to  act  in  it,  an'  then 
lay  off  an'  let  them  *  salt  their  own  meal  an'  chase  their 
own  b'ars,'  as  the  sayin'  is." 

Mrs.  Skipper  seemed  a  little  shocked. 

"  It's  a  great  compliment  to  Jacob,  I'm  sure,"  she 
said,  "  f'r  them  to  ask  him  ter  lead  off  the  meet'n'. 
But  it  ain't  hardly  the  place  ter  be  haughty.  The  r'al 
true  way  is  to  go  by  the  doctrines,  an'  jest  stand  an' 
open  yer  mouth  and  let  the  Lord  fill  it." 

"  I  seen  that  tried  once,"  said  Caroline,  and  the  retro- 
spective seriousness  of  her  features  caused  even  Mrs. 
Skipper  to  listen  with  a  mouth  avid  for  tragedy.  "  Oh 
my,  ya-as,  I  seen  that  tried  once,  an'  the  proudest  man 
"t  ever  put  his  foot  down  in  leathers  was  made  so  cheap 
by  it  that  I  don't  know  as  he'd  ever  'a'  got  over  it  to 
this  day,  ef  he'd  lived  so  long. 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL    EXPOSITION        309 

"  Old  Bots'll  Hurtle,  he'd  come  into  the  church  under 
some  special  quickenin'  that  didn't  seem  ter  stay  by 
him  very  long,  for  he  got  as  cantaclcarous  as  ever, 
an'  they  tryin'  ter  hold  him  down  to  religion ;  an'  the 
minister  comes  an'  says,  '  Bots'll,  you  ain't  led  off  yit 
on  neither  prayer  nor  testermony,'  says  he,  (  an'  I  expect 
you  ter  lead  off  next  Sunday  evenin'  meet'n','  says  he ; 
and  that  meant  somethin'  in  them  days,  when  Sunday 
evenin'  meet'n's  was  as  well  attended  as  a  carnival  or 
a  auction  is  now.  So,  Bots'll,  he  begun  a-studyin'  up 
on  somethin'  tur'ble  high-flown,  f 'r  he  was  a  vary  proud 
man ;  but  Mis'  Bots'll — who'd  allus  been  in  grace — she 
shut  him  off.  *  The'  won't  no  sech  talk  as  that  from  a 
new  convert  go  down  with  parson,'  said  she ;  *  you  got 
ter  come  down  about  ten  pegs  an'  a  lap-over,'  said 
she. 

"'What  d'  ye  mean?'  says  Bots'll.  'Why,'  says 
she,  '  the  only  thing  f'r  you  to  do,  an'  the  only  thing 
as  parson  '11  let  you  do,  is  for  you  to  stan  up,  contrite 
an'  humble,  as  ye  ought  ter  be,  an'  jest  open  yer  mouth 
an'  let  it  be  filled,'  says  she. 

"  '  Shucks,'  says  he,  '  I  ain't  one  o'  that  kind.  You 
could  do  it,  an'  easy,'  says  he  to  Mis'  Bots'll,  '  but  I 
run  to  somethin'  besides  gab,'  says  he.  '  I'd  do  better 
ter  steddy  up  my  piece  beforehan'.  But  she  kep'  at 
him,  an'  the  minister  kep'  at  him,  that  the'  wan't  no 
sech  pompous,  hifalutin'  works  as  them  goin'  ter  do  f'r 
anybody  so  recent  bro't  under  c'nviction ;  so  he  snagged 
out  o'  the  whole  subjec',  glad  ter  let  it  drop  off  his 
mind  thinkin',  as  I  suppose  we  all  do,  that  to-morrer 
might  never  come,  or  the  minister  furgit  ter  haul  him 
up,  or  somethin' ;  but,  no. 


310  POWER    LOT 

"  I  c'n  hear  the  minister  speakin'  them  words  now — 
*  Brother  Bots'll  Hurtle,  we  will  listen  to  your  tester- 
mony.'  Wai*,  thar'  he  was,  an'  nothin'  for  it  but  ter 
foller  their  recipy  now,  an'  see  what  'ud  come  of  it,  live 
'r  die,  fa'r  weather  'r  foul ;  so  up  he  gits,  sure  enough, 
an'  no  sooner  had  he  riz  on  his  feet  but  what  he  sets  his 
mouth  open." 

There  followed  a  singular  and  untimely  pause,  dur- 
ing which  Caroline's  thoughts  seemed  to  drift  gently 
away  to  another  channel. 

Mrs.  Skipper  at  last  spoke,  with  a  soft  impatience. 

"Was  it  filled,  Car'line?  " 

"  Nary  so  much  as  a  fly  offered,"  replied  that  foun- 
tain of  unfailing  reminiscence,  "  though  it  was  the 
wane  o'  July,  an'  the  meet'n'-house  buzzed  with  'em. 
No,  nothin'  went  in,"  she  reasserted,  with  grave  literal- 
ness,  "  not  even  so  much  's  a  fly.  I  set  in  the  front  row 
o*  the  choir  whar'  all  was  plain  ter  see." 

"  How  long'd  he  wait?  "  said  little  Mrs.  Skipper,  even 
a  proper  sanctimony  lost  in  her  morbid  avarice  for  the 
conclusion  of  the  tale. 

"  Wai',"  responded  Caroline,  obligingly  searching 
her  memory  for  the  faithful  particulars  connected  with 
this  most  extraordinary  affair,  "  he  waited  tell  all 
hopes  was  gone,  that's  sartin ;  but  he  was  a  proud  man 
an'  'twan't  easy  ter  give  up.  So  he  hung  on  tell  Bill 
Hants — that  was  the  best  bass  we  ever  had,  an'  set  right 
back  o'  me — let  out  one  o'  them  snorts  o'  his  behind  his 
handkercher ;  but  he  might  as  well  blowed  through  a 
foghorn  f'r  all  the  good  the  handkercher  done  him 
to'ds  deadenin'  the  sound ;  it  didn't  meller  of  it  down  a 
mite." 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL    EXPOSITION        311 

We  looked  to  see  if  Caroline  was  struggling  for  an 
assuagement  of  any  irreverent  smiles  that  might  be 
supposed  to  trouble  her  countenance  at  this  point,  but 
that  mild  and  lovely  face  remained  unruffled;  though 
"  Them  was  my  goslin'  years,"  she  elucidated  further, 
"  an'  maybe  I  wa'n't  hard  set  to  it  not  ter  let  out  a 
screech  o'  some  sort,  myself;  but  women  c'n  allus  hold 
themselves  under  better  'n  what  men  can." 

"  They  can  so,  Car'line,"  said  old  man  Trawles,  re- 
garding her  adoringly. 

But  Mrs.  Skipper  sighed,  still  absorbed  in  Bost'll 
Hurtle's  speechless  predicament. 

"  He  didn't  have  the  sperrit,  ye  see,"  said  she. 

"  He  had  sperrit  enough,"  affirmed  our  faithful  nar- 
rator ;  "  as  soon  as  he  got  out  o'  that  meet'n'-house 
you  could  'a'  heard  him  from  Shag's  Point  to  the  Bay 
o'  Fundy.  But  he  laid  it  out  in  sw'arin'  at  his  old 
flock  o'  sheep,  that — jes'  as  though  he  hadn't  enough 
already  ter  tanterlize  him — jumped  fence  that  very 
evenin'  an'  come  caperin'  down  the  road  under  a  full 
moon  ter  meet  him  an'  conduc'  him  home  from  meet'n'. 
Ef  he  was  glad  ter  see  'em,  ye'd  never  'a'  known  it  from 
the  tune  he  let  fly  at  'em. 

"  But,"  concluded  Caroline,  "  all  this  misery, 
strange  ter  say,  only  brung  him  an'  Mis'  Hurtle  closer 
tergether  in  the  end,  f'r  they  both  laid  it  onto  the 
minister,  an'  stopped  goin'  ter  meet'n',  an'  practiced 
good  works  amongst  their  neighbors  that  was  needy  or 
sick — f'r  the  Hurtles  was  very  forehanded  folks — an' 
spoke  mild  ter  each  other,  an'  stuck  clost  tergether  as 
thieves  all  the  rest  o'  their  mortal  lives." 

"  Poor  creeturs,"   said  Mrs.   Skipper,  with  a  hope 


312  POWER    LOT 

that  she  seemed  to  trust  might  not  prove  as  illusory 
as  it  appeared  to  her  to  be  unorthodox. 

Jacob  Trawles,  duly  impressed  by  Caroline's  warn- 
ings, opened  the  Sunday-school  exposition  in  due  time 
with  a  few  extremely  brief  and  dignified  remarks.  The 
felicitations  of  a  widely  discursive  mental  ramble  on 
the  part  of  the  old  lover  had  no  doubt  been  reckoned  on 
by  his  audience ;  but  any  such  small  matter  of  disap- 
pointment was  forgotten  in  the  abundant  wonder  and 
entertainment  afforded  by  Cuby  Tee-bo's  acting. 

She  was  to  impersonate  "  Grief,"  and  the  young  fry 
of  the  Sunday-school  were  to  mount  the  platform  to 
her,  one  by  one,  and  try  to  solace  her  by  handing  her 
each  a  bouquet  and  at  the  same  time  repeating  a  Scrip- 
ture quotation  to  her,  that  was  the  whole  scheme;  but 
Cuby  made  it  sufficient  in  composition,  ana  thrilling 
and  ornate  in  practice. 

She  sailed  on  to  the  platform  with  a  sweep  and  a 
trailing  of  old  sable-hued  garments,  lent  from  may 
sources  for  the  occasion.  It  was  supposed  that  she 
would  stand  up  and  declaim  her  part, — I  understood 
it  was  so  done  in  the  rehearsals — but  having  got 
the  whole  ship  under  her  command  now,  as  it  were, 
she  seemed  to  consider  that  it  might  take  a  tedious  long 
while  for  the  children  to  get  posted  up  fresh  on  their 
recitations,  and  be  made  to  hold  their  nosegays  prop- 
erly, and  prodded  up  to  mounting  the  stage  before  so 
many  people;  so,  what  does  she  do,  as  soon  as  she'd 
sailed  on  to  the  boards  herself,  but  wave  her  hand  with 
all  the  hauteur  and  majesty  of  an  accomplished  tragedy 
queen,  and  says  she,  in  a  deep  contralto  that  filled  every 
part  of  the  room: 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL    EXPOSITION        313 

"  A  chair.     Bring  to  me  a  chair,  and  queeckly." 

It  wasn't  long  before  she  was  provided  with  a  chair, 
and  she  sat  down  and  arranged  her  draperies  so  they'd 
give  the  most  imposing  effect  all  'round  her,  then  she 
crossed  her  little  feet,  in  some  new  boots,  and  stuck  'em 
out  where  they'd  show  to  the  best  advantage;  and  so, 
being  fixed  all  right  "  Grief "  began  her  lingo  in  ex- 
pectation of  the  advance  of  some  young  one  or  other 
with  a  posy  bunch  and  a  Scripture  passage. 

"  I  am  alone,  alone,"  declaimed  Cuby,  in  that  splen- 
did, pervading  contralto,  and  with  a  self-possession 
upon  her  beyond  all  words  of  mine  to  describe ;  "  alone 
with  my  gret  sorrow.  The  deep-a-ness  of  my  woe  and 
dess-pair  no  mortal  may  know-a,  or  pour  an  a  oint-a- 
ment  on  the  tears  that  weep  of  my  bleeting,  all-broken 
hairt ; "  and  she  took  out  a  handkerchief  and  gave  a 
dab  at  her  brown  eyes,  that  were  bright  and  gay  as 
jewels. 

"What  is  there  before  me,"  she  trained  on,  "but 
the  dar-r-rk  entrance  to  the  tomb — where  lays  all  the 
daid  folks." 

Cuby's  piece,  at  this  point,  was  all  spoken  up ;  it  was 
time  for  a  kid  to  appear  with  a  bouquet,  which  part  of 
the  programme  being  still  unaccountably  delayed,  the 
leading  lady  proceeded  to  improvise  without  hesitation 
or  embarrassment. 

"  Where  lays  all  the  daid  folks.  Oh,  my  griff  is  so 
drate-ful— it  is  tuff— tuff— tuff " 

At  this  crisis  a  small  boy  mercifully  appeared  on  the 
scene,  his  cheeks  still  wet  with  rebellious  tears,  and  his 
flowers  of  consolation  trailing  rudely  at  his  side  like 
a  string  of  mackerel. 


J3H  POWER    LOT 

Cuby  sighted  him  with  what  must  have  been  relief, 
though  her  manner  recognized  no  possibility  of  failure 
at  any  odds. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  demanded,  according  to  rote 
now,  "  who  are  you,  that  thus  intrude  upon  the 
s-s-sacr-r-red  domen  of  my  griff?  Come  you  to  mek 
a  mock  at  me?  Depairt — for  me,  I  would  fen  be  left 
alone  with  my  so  drate-ful  sorrow." 

The  solemnly  enunciated  words,  the  forbidding 
hauteur  in  Cuby's  stunning,  bright  eyes  bewildered 
the  boy's  progress  beyond  all  hope.  With  a  scream 
he  threw  the  bouquet  in  a  passion  of  terror  at  her  head, 
and  forgetting  utterly  the  preconcerted  text  with  which 
he  had  come  to  assuage  her  grief,  he  fled  from  the 
scene. 

Cuby  bit  her  lip  contemptuously,  but  swung  on, 
undismayed,  supplying  the  missing  link  in  the  ac- 
tion of  the  piece  by  her  own  inventiveness  and  sang 
froid. 

"The  Bible  talks,  w'at  they  bring  at  me,"  she 
averred,  "  meks  no  deeference  on  my  griff.  It  is  con- 
tinue on  me  all  the  sem.  I  theenk  it  grows  worser  on 
me  every  meenute.  Oh,  it  is  tuff " 

The  flow  of  Cuby's  improvisation  was  opportunely 
interrupted  by  the  approach  this  time  of  a  little  girl 
in  a  starched  white  skirt  and  hair  that  had  palpably 
but  just  been  released  from  a  night's  seclusion  in  curl 
papers.  She  was  a  nervous  little  creature,  and  she 
advanced  rapidly,  as  one  urged  to  keen  endeavor  by  a 
comparison  of  her  case  with  that  of  the  futile  little 
boy  who  had  bawled  stupidly  and  thrown  his  nosegay 
at  Cuby's  head.  She  should  have  repeated  first  her 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL    EXPOSITION        315 

text  of  consolation,  but  in  her  wild  haste  she  thrust 
the  bouquet  instantly  into  Cuby's  hand  with  a  curtsy 
done  by  lightning. 

"  Ezeekiel,  first  chapter,  third  verse,"  she  threw  out, 
briskly  enough,  but  there  memory  failed  her. 

"Ezekiel,  first  chapter,  third  verse,"  she  shrieked 
out  once  more  desperately. 

Cuby's  proper  proceeding  was  still  to  bewail  her 
woes,  and  to  bid  this  new  comforter  also  to  "  Begone." 
But  Cuby's  heart  was  moved  by  the  little  girl's  distress, 
and  originality  and  good  sense  triumphed  over  the 
cold  dictates  of  preconceived  art. 

"  Do  not  you  cry,  Minnee,"  she  said  blandly,  sooth- 
ingly, and  unspeakably  at  her  ease.  "  Was  you  over 
to  the  cove  this  mornin',  Minnee?  The  leetle  halibuts 
is  comin'  in  there  fine.  I  seen  a  leetle  girl  no  beeger  'n 
as  you  ketch-a  them  off  the  w'arf.  Ef  you  come  to- 
morrow, me,  I  tek  care  of  you." 

The  familiar  face  and  pleasant  voice  quite  reassured 
Minnie.  She  sucked  down  her  expiring  sobs  by  apply- 
ing the  hem  of  her  skirt  to  her  mouth. 

"  All  right.  I'll  ask  mamma — I'll  come,  anyway," 
she  added  hastily,  "'cause  mamma  likes  me  to  ketch 
halibuts." 

The  play  by  this  time  varied  so  widely  from  its  orig- 
inal method,  Cuby  set  it  back  into  the  channel  with  a 
dash  of  her  own. 

"  Go  you  down,"  she  exhorted  her  latest  comforter, 
kindly  and  firmly,  and  as  the  sprite  vanished  Cuby 
recollected  her  woes  magnificently. 

"Is  there  none,  none,"  she  cried,  "that  may  halp 
me  in  my  so  deso-olate'?  Ah,  woe  iss  to  me;  naught — 


316  POWER    LOT 

naught  can  assweg'  my  griff  but  the  dar-r-k  passage 
to  the  tomb." 

Cuby  was  tremendous,  her  voice  and  manner  wonder- 
ful. I  admired  her  without  question,  where  I  sat; 
and  as  her  eyes,  after  a  fresh  dab  from  her  hand- 
kerchief, glanced  my  way,  I  smiled  my  marveling  ap- 
plause. 

"  Grief  "  gave  me  a  composed,  almost  undiscoverable 
wink,  clear  to  me  alone;  such  was  her  art,  it  affected 
not  at  all  the  tragic  melodrama  of  her  features;  and 
she  continued  superbly: 

"  C'iss,  c'iss,  to  pile  upon  me  the  v'en  and  goddy 
masses  of  your  floral  off'rings,"  she  admonished  the 
empty  stage.  "  C'iss  to  mek  trouble  me  with  your 
v'en  words  of  console',"  she  said,  throwing  up  her 
hands  in  piteous  appeal  against  the  tidy  lot  of  com- 
forters that  were  failing  altogether  to  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance. 

But  Rhody  Ditmarse  had  a  part  to  do.  She  had  been 
supplied  with  a  hat  from  some  source — I  suspected  her 
adorer,  Rob — fit  to  make  her  eligible  for  select  and 
solemn  occasions  like  the  present;  and  her  little  soul 
was  full  of  business.  For  a  week  past  she  had  been 
curing  up  the  warts  on  her  tough  little  hands  by  the 
approved  methods  known  to  Power  Lot:  that  is,  she 
had  split  a  bean  and  rubbed  it  over  the  afflicted  mem- 
bers and  then  buried  it  safe  away  under  a  rock.  Some, 
less  conscientious,  did  the  infected  bean  up  in  a  neat 
package  and  left  it  by  the  roadside,  whereupon  the  one 
who  innocently  picked  it  up  transferred  the  wart  to 
his  own  person.  Rhody's  tried  and  stout  little  heart  re- 
volted at  the  thought  of  bringing  any  fresh  calamity 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL    EXPOSITION        317 

upon  the  already  overburdened  and  suffering  human 
race.  Her  bean  was  immune  from  working  further  ill. 

So  here  she  was,  with  a  Sunday  equipment  by  way  of 
raiment,  and  receding  warts;  one  of  the  epitomes  of 
consolation  who  in  due  course  was  to  approach  "  Grief," 
erstwhile  known  as  Cuby  Tee-bo,  with  flowers  and  a 
text. 

It  was  not  properly  Rhody's  turn,  but  the  flag  of 
distress  having  been  hoisted  in  behalf  of  the  other  com- 
forters, she  accepted  without  question  the  duty  devolv- 
ing prematurely  upon  her.  Being  sharp  and  quick  of 
memory,  she  had  also  assimilated  as  many  of  the  lost 
texts  as  possible  with  their  accompanying  bouquets; 
and  thus  with  intellect  and  body  both  weighted  after 
the  similitude  of  a  packhorse,  she  stepped  sturdily  up 
on  to  the  platform.  Her  dress,  demurely  long  for  a 
child  of  her  years,  revealed  only  the  strong  founda- 
tions of  some  cowhide  shoes,  which  tramped  across  the 
stage  toward  Cuby  with  the  fearless  and  unrelenting 
tread  of  Retribution  itself. 

"  '  Thessalony  ' — '  Psa'ms  ' — *  Coronations,'  "  grimly 
did  Rhody,  with  a  citation  of  the  proper  authority  in 
every  instance,  deliver  one  text  after  another  into  the 
light  and  inattentive  ear  of  "  Grief."  "  Grief  "  wearied 
of  the  monologue.  A  speech  of  her  own  had  been  for 
some  time  due,  and  she  now  interpolated  the  same 
without  hesitation. 

"  Biggone,"  said  the  sorrow-enthroned  lady,  fixing 
upon  Rhody  a  look  of  weary  disgust.  "  Biggone.  Thou 
who  would-est  assweg'  my  griff,  you  mek  me  worser — 
you  mek  me  seeck,"  she  added  daringly  on  her  own 
account,  and  she  yawned — for  Cuby  was  healthy  and 


318  POWER    LOT 

a  regular  sleeper,  and  the  steady  drone  of  Rhody's  voice 
was  soporific. 

"You  are  not  to  « Biggone '  me,  Cuby  Tec-bo," 
answered  Rhody  sternly.  "  Them  that  you  was  to  say 
*  Biggone '  to  has  all  giv'  out.  They  won't  come  up, 
and  I'm  a-doin'  of  it  all ;  and  you  got  ter  get  com- 
forted on  me,  an'  boo-hoo  an'  repent,  the  way  it  is  in 
the  book." 

Cuby  stared  blankly  at  the  unalterable  severity — 
from  what  strain  of  Puritan  ancestry,  who  knows? 
— cast  upon  little  Rhody's  features.  But  with  a  flash 
of  Latin  adaptability,  "  Grief  "  triumphed,  and  still  car- 
ried off  the  situation  at  last  with  glory. 

"  So  they  come  no  more,  Rhode'  ?  "  she  said  gently, 
with  a  soft  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  You  got  ter  git  comforted  on  me,"  repeated 
Rhody. 

"  My  griff,"  now  readily  assented  Cuby  sweetly  and 
clearly,  with  splendid  action,  "  my  griff  is  all  assweg'. 
Your  floral  off'rings,  your  so  swi't  words  from  the 
Holee  Babble  have  lift'  me  up  to  mek  of  me  a  joy  so 
beeg  as  once  was  my  so  gre't  griff.  I  bless-a  an' 
cariss-a  you  all,  and  will  now  retire  to  my  apart-a-mong 
to  give  t'anks  for  all  w'at  is  on  me." 

Cuby  rose,  and  sailed  with  a  chastened,  though 
supreme,  majesty  from  the  stage. 

Her  performance  was  regarded  as  something  tran- 
scendent throughout.  Other  numbers  of  the  evening's 
programme,  assumed  by  some  of  the  maturer  members 
of  the  Sunday-school,  followed;  but  they  appeared 
trite,  they  lacked  salt  and  savor  altogether,  after  what 
had  been. 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL   EXPOSITION        319 

When  a  little  girl,  whom  you  have  seen  wading 
barefoot  among  the  clam  flats,  or  halloing  like  a  boy 
at  you  from  some  perch  in  the  tree  branches,  suddenly 
sails  superbly  before  you,  long  and  willowy  in  black 
robes,  a  Madonna  sweetness  upon  her  features,  a  fault- 
less self-possession  in  her  bearing — it  sets  you  to  won- 
dering how  it  all  came  about.  The  toss  of  Cuby's  head 
at  the  congratulations  she  received,  as  she  reappeared 
brilliant  in  her  accustomed  beribboned  garb  among  the 
audience,  did  not  detract  from  this  marvel. 

As  for  Rhody,  she  was  accepted  by  the  whole  Sunday- 
school,  youth  and  eld,  as  a  stalwart  and  promising 
pillar  miraculously  supplied  to  a  decaying  tabernacle. 
She  went  back  to  the  bench  where  Rob  sat  with  Mrs. 
Skipper  and  Caroline.  Rob's  welcoming  smile  was 
genial  as  the  sun  at  noonday  and  expressed  so  much 
pride  of  Rhody  that  she  blushed  slightly  herself  for 
vanity  of  her  performance — for  the  first  and  only  time 
that  evening. 

But  I  was  watching  closely  another  face  that  had 
but  just  entered,  in  a  dim  corner  of  the  hall;  a  face 
that  was  staring  at  Rob  Hilton  with  a  sort  of  fixed 
horror. 

On  that  night  when  I  brought  Rob  home  from  Wai- 
deck  I  had  asked  Mary  if  Bate  was  in  the  house. 
"  No,"  she  said ;  "  Bate  has  not  been  here  for  two 
nights,  Jim." 

Rob  and  I  had  landed  late  at  night.  No  one  had 
seen  us,  and  Rob  with  his  inflamed  arm  had  not  been  out 
since  until  this  evening.  So  I  doubted  if  any  word  of 
Rob,  living,  had  reached  Bate. 

I  made  my  way  quietly  down  to  where  he  stood. 


320  POWER    LOT 

"  Come  on  out,  Bate,"  I  said.  "  I  want  a  word  with 
you." 

My  voice  seemed  to  rouse  him  from  the  shackles  of 
a  nightmare.  He  followed  me  out  stupidly.  He  had 
on  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  with  a  fine  linen  shirt,  and  a 
watch  and  chain,  and  new  boots  to  match,  and  he  was 
holding  a  big  cigar  in  his  terror-palsied  hand. 

I  believe  I  have  never  seen  anything  so  pathetic 
under  heaven  as  the  new  clothes  on  that  shivering,  con- 
victed wretch.  Innocence  and  martyrdom  are  not  so 
pathetic  to  me;  they  have  strong  white  wings  that 
earthly  mischance  only  set  free  for  the  upper  king- 
doms and  an  incontrovertible  estate — but  the  idiocy  of 
evil,  sucking  still  rapaciously  from  the  dregs  of  a 
poisoned  glass,  God  must  mend  that,  as  there  are  some 
bodies  beyond  the  skill  of  earthly  physicians  to  set 
straight.  God,  He  will  mend  all;  that  I  believe.  You 
have  your  notion  of  pathos,  I  have  mine;  and  to  me 
Bate  Stingaree  was  pathetic,  beyond  tears,  to  what 
wrings  a  man's  very  soul. 

But  I  had  to  look  out  for  his  not  following  and  perse- 
cuting Rob  any  further.  I  had  to  put  chain  and  muzzle 
on  him,  so  to  speak,  and  I  went  straight  to  my  job. 

"  Bate,"  I  said,  "  you  and  Gar'  Tee-bo  sailed  over 
to  Waldeck  after  us.  I  know  just  where  you  got  your 
boat,  I  know  just  the  spot  where  you  anchored  out  of 
sight;  and  you  sneaked  in  your  dory  off  the  ledges 
and  went  ashore,  and  watched  your  chance.  You  felled 
Rob  Hilton  in  a  flash,  creeping  up  behind  him  like  a 
snake,  in  a  dark  alleyway.  You  took  his  money  and 
threw  him  over  for  dead  into  the  quarry." 

Bate  gave  me  a  demented  grin ;  then,  as  if  my  words 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL    EXPOSITION        321 

had  roused  him  to  some  force  for  self-defense  in  the 
living  world  again,  his  eyes  glared  at  me  like  those  of 
a  beast,  his  hands  twitched  as  though  he  could  not 
withhold  a  blow. 

"  You,"  he  cried,  "  mind  your  business,  or  I'll " 

"  Hand  me  over  what  you  have  left  of  Rob's  money," 
said  I,  still  even  and  low,  "  unless  you  want  to  serve 
out  a  sentence  in  prison.  I've  got  to  keep  an  eye  on 
you  hereafter,  and  I  shan't  fail  to  do  it.  It  is  '  toe- 
the-mark '  or  prison  for  you,  Bate.  And  be  quick 
about  what  I  tell  you  to  do.  You  don't  want  to  get 
a  crowd  out  here." 

"  It's  a  lie,  Jim,"  said  he  desperately ;  "  somebody  's 
been  tellin'  you  a  lie.  Daisy  got  drunk  as  a  fool,  and 
fell  over  of  his  own  accord.  Tee-bo  and  me  went  over 
on  business,  and  we  can  prove  it;  and  we  happened 
to  see  him  stumblin'  and  reelin'  along  the  quarryside, 
drunk ;  we  said  then  he'd  likely  fall  over.  That's  all 
we  got  to  do  with  it." 

"Rob  Hilton  saw  the  hand  that  dealt  the  blow,"  I 
informed  him,  rather  impatiently.  "  And  what  if  I, 
being  an  old  stager  and  knowing  the  ways  of  a  few 
o'  the  folks — thank  Heaven,  there's  only  a  few  o'  that 
sort  'round  here — what  if  I  arranged  to  have  some 
of  those  bills  marked  that  went  into  Rob's  pocket,  and 
that  you've  got  now  in  your  own  ?  " 

"  D — n  it,"  said  the  craven  fellow,  "  I  never  had  no 
luck.  Everything  and  everybody's  down  on  me." 

"  Hand  me  over  the  money,"  said  I. 

"  I  didn't  have  but  half  of  it,"  he  whined. 

"  I  know  where  to  get  the  other  half." 

Bate,  without  further  parley,  handed  to  me  the  fifty 


322  POWER    LOT 

dollars  he  had  left.  "  You're  goin'  to  let  this  thing 
drop,  now,  Jim?  "  he  was  trembling,  and  actually  tried 
to  work  up  an  ingratiating  smile  on  his  pallid  face. 

"  That's  just  the  trouble,"  I  said.  "  Somehow 
everything  has  to  be  let  drop  with  you.  As  you  say, 
you  ain't  been  kindly  treated,  but  it  ain't  in  the  way  you 
think.  Punishment  has  been  warded  off  o'  you  when 
it  might  'a'  saved  your  soul  alive  to  let  the  chastise- 
ment fall  hard  on  your  back.  You've  been  shielded 
when  you  ought  to  been  made  to  face  the  light.  I'm 
a-doin'  you  and  all  humanity  'round  ye  another  wrong 
now,  by  lettin'  ye  go.  But  I  can't  stand  letting  such 
a  blow  fall  on  that  sister  o'  yours — on  Mary." 

His  face  fixed  for  a  sneer  from  very  habit,  but  he 
hastened  to  draw  it  out  respectfully. 

"  She's  a  good  girl,  Mary  is,"  he  whined.  "  I  reckon 
as  how  some  things  might  kill  her.  All  right,  we'll  let 
it  drop.  You  needn't  be  afraid  I'll  trouble  any  of 
ye  any  more." 

My  next  business  was  with  Tee-bo.  I  recovered  a 
full  hundred  there,  and  obsequious  treatment. 

"  Bate — he  nevaire  tell-a  me  what  for  he  sail  to 
Waldeck.  No.  I  des-spise  heem,  an'  I  keel-a.  heem,  eef 
you  weesh.  Bate — he  mek  his  invite'  to  go  sail  with 
heem.  So  I  go.  I  know  not'ings.  He  say  *  Man  owe 
me  money,  w'at  he  pe'd  me — I  giv'  you  hunder'  dollar, 
Gar',  'cause  I  loaf  Cuby,  eef  you  git  her  to  mek  marry 
with  me.'  I  know  not'ings,  Capataine  Jeem.  I  loaf 
you.  I  do  w'at  you  say,  only  don't  you  come  to  mek 
troubles  on  me.  I  tell  you,  I  know  not'ings." 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

SEA    GULLS    EMBRACE 

I  TOOK  the  story  of  the  refunded  money  up  to  Rob 
next  morning.  "  You  owe  me  only  '  fifty '  now,"  I 
said. 

"I  owe  you "  said  the  lad;  well,  I  won't  tell 

what  he  said.  Rut  it  isn't  so  hard  giving  up,  and 
piloting  your  chickens  along  to  pick  up  the  fattest  of 
the  corn,  when  they  turn  a  face  and  a  spirit  toward  you 
like  Rob's. 

I  was  willing  to  make  my  faith  in  Gar'  Tee-bo's  pro- 
testations of  innocence  discretionary,  but  I  was  deter- 
mined to  find  out  whether  "  Grief  "  knew  anything  of 
the  dastardly  plot  against  Rob.  I  meant  to  search 
that  maiden's  soul  for  lurking  crime.  On  my  return 
to  the  River  settlement  I  came  easily  upon  Cuby,  fresh 
and  handsome,  doing  the  week's  washing  in  the  shed  of 
the  Tee-bo  cabin. 

"How  d'  do,  Cuby?" 

"  Halloo,  Jeem." 

"  You  did  your  part  mighty  fine  last  night,  Cuby — 
wonderful.  You  are  an  actress  and  no  mistake." 

"  Wai',"  said  Cuby,  deftly  wringing  out  one  of  Tee- 
bo's  flannel  shirts,  a  deep  blush  on  her  downcast  face, 
"  I'm  vary  glad  you  lak'  how  I  done  it." 

"  By  the  way,  Cuby,"  I  continued  bluntly,  "  did  you 
know  that  your  father  and  Bate  sailed  over  to  Wai- 
deck  just  after  Rob  and  I  did  the  other  day?  " 


324  POWER    LOT 

"  So? — Jeem,"  she  said,  lifting  to  me  a  pale  face 
that  I  knew  on  the  spot  and  the  instant  to  be  an  honest 
face.  "  They  mek  to  me  as  how  they  go  feeshin'." 

"  Do  you — honest — care  anything  about  Rob  Hil- 
ton, Cuby?  Tell  me  now." 

"  Me — I  want  them  not  to  hurt  heem.  I  am  good, 
Jeem  Tur-ban,  though  always  you  hate  me  and  mek 
a  mock  at  me."  She  shook  out  the  wrung  garment 
viciously,  as  though  she  would  have  liked  to  slap  me 
in  the  face  with  it.  But  her  voice  and  eyes  carried  a 
suspicion  of  dammed-up  tears. 

"  I  see  you  do  care  for  him,  after  all,"  said  I. 

"  Heem ! "  She  threw  the  wrung  and  shaken  gar- 
ment to  a  near-by  line;  it  snapped  my  ear  stingingly 
in  passing,  but  it  landed  on  the  line  as  smartly  as  if 
a  boy  had  thrown  it.  "  Heem,  the  gre't  stupeed  lunk-a- 
head.  Heem !  Loaf  heem !  "  She  laughed,  and  her 
perfect  teeth  glittered  in  a  way  that  actually  suggested 
to  me  that  their  bite  might  not  be  pleasant. 

"  Who  do  you  love,  then  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Who  ?  Oh,  you,  mebbee,"  she  retorted,  her  eyes 
burning  annihilation  of  me,  her  passionate  face  white 
with  wrath.  "You!  That  is  it!  It  must  be.  How 
could  it  be  halp'?  You  air  so  han'some,  so  genteel,  so 
loafly — an*  you  mek  so  to  mind  your  own  beezness! 
Oh,  vary  sure  it  must-a  be  you ! "  She  laughed,  and 
her  laugh  was  musical  even  when  she  was  in  a  spasm  of 
scorn  and  rage. 

"  That  is  not  polite,"  I  answered,  as  if  I  had  been 
deeply  hurt,  "to  remind  me  of  my  misfortunes.  I 
did  not  think  you  would  be  so  unkind  to  a  man  who 
was  created  plain  and  rough ;  to  throw  his  ugliness 


SEA    GULLS    EMBRACE  325 

back  in  his  face,  and  laugh  at  it.  I  did  not  think  it  of 
you,  Cuby." 

She  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  Jeem,  it  is  not  me  w'at  laugh  at  you.  It  is 
you  mek-a  laugh  on  me." 

She  bent  over  her  tub  again,  and  her  tears  mingled 
with  the  suds,  falling  over  cheeks  dewy  as  a  baby's 
and  from  long,  dark  lashes  that  hid  sedulously  the 
storm  of  shame  and  sorrow  in  her  eyes.  Now  was  she 
indeed  "  Grief  " ;  and  still  the  actress  was  mounting  in 
her,  her  lip  began  to  curl  and  the  clothes  in  the  tub 
to  dance  a  jig  suggestive  of  rising  passion. 

"Well,  who  do  you  hate,  Cuby?"  I  made  haste 
to  say,  by  way  of  deflecting  her  emotion  into  some 
safe  and  congenial  outlet. 

"  Jeem,  I  cross-a  my  heart " — she  performed  that 
action  solemnly,  her  bright,  wet  eyes  meeting  mine 
steadily — "  I  am  getting  hate  of  them  two." 

"  Ah,  your  father  and  Bate?  " 

"  Hush ! — yes.  I  am  getting  hate  to  be  'round  here. 
They  dreenk — awful.  They  fetch  home  a  lot  of  the 
dreenk,  that  tarn'  they  mek'  to  go  feeshin'.  Jeem,  tell-a 
me,  where  was  it  they  go? — an'  they  fight  on  Rob?  An' 
heem  one  poor  lunk-a-head." 

"  Rob  Hilton  is  brave  enough  to  distinguish  himself 
in  any  war  men  ever  fought,  Cuby.  Rob  is  more  of  a 
soldier  than  you  think." 

"  Keep  you  heem,  then.  I  want  heem  not.  I  want 
nevaire  to  go  up  on  that  hill  an*  have  that  Ma'y 
Sting'ree  runnin'  in  and  makin'  a  preach  at  me.  Me — 
I  rather  to  die." 

"  Then,  maybe  you  love  Bate?  " 


1'WVKK    LOT 

"  Mebbec  you  are  a  fool,"  she  retorted,  the  stout 
pillow  case  she  had  been  wringing  clearing  my  head  by 
the  fraction  of  an  inch  on  its  impetuous  way  to  the 
line.  "  Bet'  Sting' ree ! — be  tarn  to  heem ! — w'at  have 
the  audass'  to  knock  me  'gin  the  side  o'  my  house,  till 
I  draw  the  gun  on  heem,  an'  he  run.  Would  I  shoot, 
look  you  !  By  tam,  I  would  shoot  heem !  " 

The  tears  were  decidedly  exhaling  in  the  bright  flame 
of  Cuby's  eyes. 

"  Well,  now,  look  here,"  I  said,  unable  to  keep  back 
a  smile,  her  oaths  were  so  incongruous  with  her  baby- 
sweet  lips ;  "  look  here,  Cuby,  you  and  me  are  old 
friends — and  you  know  who's  to  be  trusted.  Old  Jim 
Turbine  will  keep  your  secret.  You  are  afraid  to  stay 
here " 

"  I  did  not  say  I  was  af  re'd." 

"  True,  but  you  hate  the  atmosphere  round  your 
home  here.  You  hate  them,  and  you'd  be  glad  to  get 
away  and  get  quit  of  it  all.  And  so  many  of  the 
boys  round  here  have  been  trying  to  pay  court  to  you. 
Sure,  you  love  someone.  Who  is  it,  Cuby  ?  " 

"  Whan  I  tell  heem,"  she  replied,  with  bitter  empha- 
sis, "  his  old  greezle-top  '11  be  layin'  more  years  than 
as  one  in  the  tomb  o'  the  daid  folks,"  and  the  mate 
to  the  pillow  case  took  me  a  clean  swat  across  the 
eyes,  and  there  stayed,  wet  and  heavy. 

I  laughed  as  I  disentangled  myself.  Cuby  laughed, 
giving  me  a  sidelong  glance  from  her  viciously  re- 
newed exercises  over  the  washtub. 

"  I  thought  you  could  throw,"  I  reproached  her ; 
"  but  you  are  like  all  girls,  silly  and  weak."  I  sighed 
and  took  the  doughty  pillow-case  over  to  the  line,  where 


SEA    GULLS    EMBRACE  327 

I  hung  it  up  neatly  with  clothespins ;  in  the  same  manner 
I  suspended  all  the  articles  that  had  been  hurled  thither- 
ward with  such  force  by  Cuby,  not  omitting  the  kitchen 
towel,  which  took  me  ferociously  in  the  neck  while  I 
was  in  the  very  midst  of  these  travails. 

"  Do  you  know  what  '  spunk  '  means  ?  "  I  said,  com- 
ing back  to  Cuby. 

"  It  means,"  she  answered  promptly,  "  that  I  am 
brev'." 

"  It  does  so.  All  of  that.  You  can  go  right  up  to 
the  head." 

"  Ah  no,  Jeem,  I  go  furder  'n  as  that.  My  mother, 
she  went  an'  drown  herself  long  tarn'  ago  biffore  I 
rimmember,  but  they  tell-a  me.  She  was  brev'.  Whan 
she  lak'  it  not  to  leeve  any  longer,  she  go  sweern  out — 
vary  far — where  there  is  no  trouble  to  her  any  more. 
Ah,  she  was  brev',  an*  me — I  care  not.  I  am  brev' 
also ;  an'  I  loaf-a  the  water.  It  mak'  me  happy  to 
sweem  out  vary,  vary  far,  an'  nevaire  come  back  where 
it  is  all  trouble  to  me,  an'  some — that  I  did  once  lak' — 
come  an'  mek'  a  laugh  at  me." 

"  You  love  the  water?  So  do  I.  You  ought  to 
marry  one  of  the  sailor  lads,  Cuby." 

"  I  shall  nevaire  marry,"  replied  Cuby.  "  I  use  to 
theenk  eef  I  did  to  marry  it  mus'  be  a  man  w'at  has 
a  boat  an'  goes  a-feeshin'.  I  could  not  loaf  any  other — 
me.  But  I  shall  nevaire  marry." 

"  There's  Bingham  Teazler,  for  one,  says  he  asked 
ye  twice  over  last  time  his  boat  was  in,"  said  I  rather 
harshly ;  for  I  resented  the  look  of  composed  martyr- 
dom that  had  suddenly  spread  itself  over  Cuby's  ca- 
pricious and  beautiful  features. 


328  POWER    LOT 

"  Is  it  your  beezness,  Jeem,"  inquired  Cuby  sweetly, 
"  to  go  aroun'  tellin'  folks  who  they  shall  to  marry  ? 
I  thought  you  had  a  boat  and  went  a-feeshin'.  I  did 
not  know  you  had  change'  your  beezness.  Me — I 
should  theenk  you  would  be  a-shem'  of  yourself  to  go 
aroun'  on  such  beezness,  lak'  a  ol'  hen,  fooss,  fooss, 
fooss » 

"  My  business  is  sailing  and  fishing  still.  Only  once 
in  a  while  there's  a  little  devil  of  a  wildcat  ashore  that 
is  more  than  old  hens  can  manage ;  she  needs  a  big  man 
to  train  her.  She's  a  vixen  and  a  torment,  and  a  whole 
handful.  I've  got  more  folks  to  look  after  and  more 
things  on  my  hands  now  than  I  know  what  to  do  with. 
But  here's  another — a  '  married  '  woman,  too — that 
ought  to  be  behaving  herself  respectably." 

Cuby  laughed. 

"Married!  I  would  tell  anybody  go  mind  their 
beezness  eef  I  was  married  to  tham  only  so  leetle  as  I 
am  married  to  Rob  Heelton.  Get  away,  you,  from  my 
father's  house.  You  are  stupeed.  You  have  no  bre'ns. 
It  is  a  peety,  for  somtam'  I  theenk  I  lak'  you — it  is 
a  peety  God  have  giv'  you  no  bre'ns." 

"  Well,  you  have  got  to  promise  me  one  thing  before 
I  leave  here;  you  won't  go  drowning  yourself  or  swim- 
ming out  too  far,  you  little  she-devil?  I  know  you 
will  keep  it  if  you  promise.  Now  look  me  straight  in 
the  eyes — will  you  promise?  " 

"  Get  away  from  my  father's  house,  and  go  you  mind 
your  beezness.  For  I  will  not  promise  you  not'ing — 
no,  I  will  not." 

"  Promise,"  I  said,  striding  toward  her,  and  I  took 


PROMISE,"  I   SAID,  STRIDING  TOWARD  HER. 


SEA    GULLS    EMBRACE  329 

both  her  hands,  holding  her  at  arm's  length.  The 
little  hands  were  helpless  in  mine. 

Her  fearless,  wild  eyes  smiled  at  me. 

I  never  knew  just  how  it  was  done,  but  in  that 
instant  I  held  her  at  arm's  length  no  longer.  I  held 
her  in  mj  arms,  and  I  kissed  her  with  a  fierce  will  on 
her  sweet,  rebellious  lips. 

"  Promise  me,  Cuby." 

"  Jeem,  I  promise-a  you,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

SCARECROW     AS     COMFORTER 

WHEN  a  man  starts  out  to  take  more  interest  in  other 
folks  than  he  does  in  himself,  he's  got  business  before 
him,  and  plenty  of  it;  orders  to  fill  by  day  and  by 
night,  and  no  dull  times  in  his  profession. 

It's  a  profession  for  a  particular  kind  of  fool,  that's 
built  that  way,  and  it's  never  overcrowded;  the  air 
is  fresh  all  'round  ye,  and  nothing  to  obstruct  the 
view — when  ye  take  to  running  the  universe  for  the 
sake  of  other  folks. 

Mary,  on  her  part,  was  running  the  universe  to  try 
to  save  Bate,  and  she  wondered  and  worried  over  his 
continued  absence  from  home. 

"  But  he  has  done  better  of  late,  Jim.  Much  of  the 
time  he  has  worked  faithfully  on  the  place.  His  crop 
of  corn  is  the  best  anywhere  about — so  they  say.  Per- 
haps— he  has  gone  so  long  without — this  will  be  his 
last  '  spree.'  If  I  could  only  get  him  home  again. 
Don't  you  think  that  he  has  done  better  for  a  good 
while  past?" 

"Well,  yes,"  I  answered  desperately,  "I  think  he 
has  done  more." 

"  You  won't  give  him  up,  Jim  ?  I  could  not  work 
still  to  redeem  him — without  your  help." 

Now,  I  had  kissed  Cuby  as  a  gull  in  gay  and  chatty 
flight  leans  to  his  companion  on  the  wing.  But  Mary 
330 


SCARECROW    AS    COMFORTER          331 

— that  adoration  of  her  was  a  life-long  habit — I  should 
never  kiss  her;  that  I  knew,  though  she  lifted  to  me 
the  soul  in  her  dark  eyes  with  a  trust  that  rived  me, 
for  the  love  I  had  for  her,  and  had  nurtured  for  her, 
against  hope,  this  many  a  year.  Verily,  there  are 
some  seas  a  woman  like  that  does  not  sail,  or  she  would 
not  have  lifted  to  me  a  look  like  that,  who  must  only 
suffer  through  my  love  for  her. 

"  I'll  never  give  up  aught  that  I  can  do  to  help  you. 
Did  you  need  to  ask  me  that?  "  I  smiled  at  her. 

Rob,  with  his  able  arm,  was  rigging  up  a  scarecrow 
— over  in  the  corn  field  where  I  went  to  work — to  keep 
the  crows  away  from  Bate's  corn.  He  arranged  a  de- 
cayed hat  at  a  defiant  angle  on  the  head  of  the  dreadful 
creation  he  was  producing.  "  This  is  just  fit  business 
for  me,"  he  declared,  "  some  one-handed  fool  job  like 
this." 

"  It's  not  so  bad,  considering,"  said  I,  "  trying  to 
keep  the  crows  off  the  corn  of  a  man  that  tried  to — 
murder  you." 

"  I've  got  the  habit  of  working  at  something  all 
the  time,  Jim,"  he  went  on  seriously,  "  and  it  is  all 
I'm  fit  for.  I'd  better  be  working  than  making  an  ass 
of  myself  on  high  lines,  like  trying  to  read  Shakespeare 
and  Browning  aloud  to  a  woman  college  president. 
Did  you  hear  me  trying  to  read  aloud  to  Mary?  I 
wish  I  had  at  least  a  little  decent  fear,  but  I'm  such 
a  d — d  fool  I  don't  stick  at  anything." 

'*  Rob,"  I  suggested,  to  turn  his  thoughts,  "  you 
ought  to  put  the  hat  that  Caroline  Treet  gave  you 
on  that  scarecrow.  It  would  not  be  matched  then  for 
a  success,  of  its  kind,  in  any  kingdom.  The  crows 


832  POWER    LOT 

wouldn't  so  much  as  flutter  anywheres  near  all 
summer." 

Rob's  shoulders  shrugged  with  a  laugh.  I  saw, 
though  his  back  was  turned.  Then  he  faced  me,  and 
there  was  the  queer  spirit  that  I  liked  so,  and  that  al- 
ways floored  me,  in  his  blue  eyes.  You  couldn't  con- 
trovert it  or  touch  it  anywhere,  it  was  that  steady  and 
deep,  though  it  was  only  over  a  little  thing  that  it 
showed,  now. 

"  Jim,  I  wouldn't  put  that  hat  on  a  scarecrow  for 
any  money,  or  anything  on  God's  earth.  I  wouldn't 
make  game  of  that  hat  though  it  was  worn  to  shreds — 
and  I  know  some  'round  here  do  put  Caroline's  hats  on 
their  scarecrows.  I  wear  it  often — when  she's  looking — 
and  I  shall  as  long  as  I'm  at  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us. 
It's  a  nice  hat,  and  I  like  it.  You  keep  quiet  about  that 
hat,  old  man,  or  you  and  I'll  have  a  quarrel." 

"  You've  got  a  good  many  girls  on  your  string," 
I  adjured  him  solemnly. 

The  smile  grew  broad  on  his  face.    Then  he  sobered. 

"  Ah,  Jim,"  he  said,  arranging  some  straw  under 
the  tattered  vest  of  his  dreadful  piece  of  sculpture  in 
order  to  give  it  the  similitude  of  a  mortal  stomach 
and  some  proper  pride  of  bearing ;  "  ah,  Jim,  you 
ought  to  have  been  in  my  shoes — at  birth,  I  mean — 
you  would  have  plodded  into  the  advantages  that  I 
tossed  in  air ;  you  would  have  used  them  like  an  ex- 
pert, and  made  a  great  man  of  yourself,  and — married 
Mary  Stingaree." 

He  became  intensely  interested  in  the  processes  of 
the  art  he  was  pursuing,  and  stood  off  to  view  his 
uncanny  work. 


SCARECROW    AS    COMFORTER          333 

"  Mary  Stingaree  is  for  neither  you  nor  me,"  I 
said.  "  It  would  be  a  shame  for  her  to  marry  either 
of  us,  after  all.  We  both  know  she  is  spoken  for  from 
a  high  source,  and  where  she  will  probably  make  up 
her  mind  to  go  in  the  end.  We'd  better  put  her  out 
of  our  minds  as  far  as  that  is  concerned." 

"  Doctor  Margate  is  too  old  for  her,"  Rob  replied, 
giving  an  English  cant  to  the  trousers  set  up  on 
two  old  broom  handles  which  constituted  the  legs  of 
his  masterpiece.  "  Too  old  for  her.  Perhaps  you 
think  she's  sort  of  prim  and  schoolteachery,  Jim,  but 
she  isn't.  She's  great!  She's  jolly  and  full  of  '  go  ' 
— didn't  you  know  that?  Why,  Mary  Stingaree  is 
a  society  woman  more  than  anything  else,  and  a  bril- 
liant one,  too.  She  has  had  a  hard,  uncongenial  life 
of  it,  but  the  music  and  the  dash  are  all  there.  She 
ought  to  marry  a  young  man,  and  travel,  and  enter- 
tain at  her  own  house,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  How 
she  would  shine !  " 

"  Doctor  Margate  is  not  too  old  to  travel,  and  by  all 
accounts  his  house  is  big  enough  for  even  her  to  shine 
in.  You  and  I  are  poor  devils  with  our  own  work  cut 
out  before  us,  and  we've  got  to  stand  up  to  it  without 
frittering  our  thoughts  away  in  hopeless  moonshine. 
We  can  be  men  she  can  respect,  anyway." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rob,  his  face  settling  again  to  severer 
lines,  with  a  sharp  pallor  round  the  lips.  "  I  can't 
hang  'round  there  so  much  with  her,  though.  I — I 
like  it  too  much,  Jim.  I — I  wouldn't  have  dreamed, 
when  I  first  came  to  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  that  a 
man  could  ever  love  a  woman  as  I  love  her  now.  When 
she  does  up  my  arm  I  don't  dare  breathe,  for  fear  she'd 


334  POWER    LOT 

know  how  I  wish  that  I  could  die  when  she  touches 
me,  and  go  off  that  way,  happy,  in  the  bliss  of  it; 
quit  it  all,  that  way — all  this  mess  that  I've  got  into, 
that  I  don't  rightly  know  how  to  manage.  I'm  not 
afraid,  old  man.  I  could  stand  up  to  anything,  if 
I  saw  my  way  clear.  Once  or  twice  I've  thought 
she — Mary — well,  I  could  not  believe  it,  of  course — 
but  I've  thought — just  for  a  moment,  you  know — I've 
thought " 

"  Don't  think  it  any  more — that's  only  just  her 
way.  You  get  to  thinking  that,  too  hard,  and  you  fall 
on  your  head  every  time,  and  find  you're  badly  cracked. 
Stand  on  your  own  feet,  Rob.  Good  Lord!  stand  up 
independent,  and  steer." 

"  You  couldn't  talk  just  like  that,  if  you  cared  for 
anybody  as  I  care  for  her." 

"  No?— but  it's  a  safe  rule  to  go  by.  It's  the  only 
way  she'd  ever  care  for  you" 

I  pitied  the  lad's  working  face.  But  he  climbed  out 
of  this  quarry  before  my  very  eyes.  You  can  tell 
by  the  look  on  a  man's  face  when  he  has  given  up  his 
own  way  and  settled  down  again  to  sail  as  true  to  chart 
and  compass  as  he  knows. 

I  left  him  smoking  his  pipe  beside  his  scarecrow, 
friendly,  and  human-close,  as  though  the  communion 
lay  deep  between  him  and  that  uncanny  offspring  of 
his  genius.  I  stopped  at  the  house  on  my  way  home 
for  a  word  with  Mary.  There  are  lots  of  ends  to  pick 
up  when  you  are  running  the  universe  for  the  sake 
of  a  lot  of  eccentric  individuals  such  as  I  had  to 
manage. 

"  This  is  just  between  you  and  me  as  old  friends, 


SCARECROW    AS    COMFORTER          335 

Mary,"  said  I.  "  You  might  go  kind  of  careful  with 
Rob  Hilton,  if  you  don't  really  care  anything  about 
him.  He — he's  very  fond  of  you,  Mary." 

"  Is  he?  "  said  she,  meeting  me  very  frankly,  and 
with  great  quietness  of  demeanor.  "  Well — I  am  fond 
of  him." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  know.  But  that  is  not  the  way  Rob 
feels  it.  He  is  deeper  than  you  think.  He — he — it 
is  tough  for  Rob,  Mary.  It's  hard — it's  vital  hard 
for  him." 

"And  how  do  you  suppose  I  care  for  him?  Am 
I  incapable  of  affection  for  any  sort  except  drunkards 
and  the  superannuated  and  all  the  curious  of  creation? 
Is  it  not  possible  that  I  could  love  someone  young  and 
straight  and  tall  and  pleasant  to  look  upon,  and  joy- 
ful to  hear?  Someone  who  has  erred,  possibly — like 
the  rest  of  us;  for  we  are  none  of  us  quite  perfect, 
Jim." 

She  flashed  that  at  me  as  though  I'd  been  sizing  up 
poor  human  flesh  and  condemning  it  altogether  because 
it  didn't  touch  ideal  attainment;  that  is  the  kind  of 
justice  you  get  meted  out  to  you  when  you're  running 
the  universe — your  little  part  of  it — for  the  sake  of  a 
lot  of  hotheads. 

"  Is  it  not  possible  that  I  might  care  for  someone 
who  is  admirably,  simply  normal  in  his  nature  and  in 
his  craving  for  happiness  ?  " 

She  was  up  and  speaking  at  last.  Not  so  much  her 
words  as  her  manner  glued  my  tongue  in  my  mouth. 

"  It  was  a  shame,"  she  went  one,  in  a  flame  of  indig- 
nation, "  a  shame  for  Rob  Hilton  to  be  entrapped  into 
that  dreadful,  false  marriage  down  there.  He  was 


336  POWER    LOT 

not  married,"  she  believed.  "  He  was  not  of  their  sort, 
and  he  could  never  become  so  through  any  amount  of 
degradation.  It  was  wicked.  If  there  had  been  anyone 
to  take  any  interest  in  him " 

"  A  woman,"  she  continued,  "  could  not  go  rummag- 
ing about  in  the  purlieus  of  that  dreadful  River  down 
there  to  see  what  was  going  on,  or  to  protect  the  de- 
fenseless ;  but  it  really  seemed  as  though  a  man  could 
have  protected  his  friend." 

My  tongue  still  stuck  tight  on  unmoving  hinges. 

"  I  said  Rob  Hilton  was  charmingly  normal,"  said 
she.  "  He  is  not,  he  is  superior.  Why,  he  has  a  heart 
like  a  lion.  He  would  do  and  dare  anything  for  anyone 
he  loved." 

"  Mary,"  said  my  creaking  tongue  at  last,  and  I 
climbed  a  tough  pitch  in  the  waves  then,  and  swal- 
lowed injustice,  and  threw  back  magnanimity  and  pa- 
tience at  her  for  her  wild,  cruel  handling  of  me,  God 
knows  that ;  "  Mary,  if  I  have  not  been  all  the  friend 
I  ought  to  be  to  you  and  Rob  Hilton,  why,  I  shall  have 
a  chance  to  make  up  for  it  later  on." 

She  hesitated,  and  gave  me  a  bit  of  attention,  just 
a  bit.  I  reckon  my  face  was  screwed  up  in  some  dis- 
torted shape. 

"Jim,"  said  she  softer,  "I  did  not  mean  that. 
There  was  never  anyone  like  you.  I  did  not  mean  to 
hurt  you." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  I,  "  I'm  one  of  the  '  curious  ' — 
one  of  the  freaks.  But  now,  I  want  to  know  one 
thing,  if  an  old  life-long  friendship  may  put  the  ques- 
tion to  ye,.  Mary.  If  Rob  Hilton  were  proven  to  be 
free,  would  you  marry  him  ?  " 


SCARECROW    AS    COMFORTER          337 

"  You  seem  to  cast  some  reflection  upon  him,"  she 
answered ;  "  and  the  question  you  ask  me  would  be 
impertinent — did  it  come  from  anyone  but  you.  But 
you  seem  to  cast  some  reflection  upon  Rob,"  she  said, 
very  gently  now.  "  Did  you  never  think,  Jim,  it  is 
greater  to  win  a  battle  over  self  and  temptation  than 
to  sit  at  ease  with  those  who  have  not  been  tempted?  " 

"  I  have  thought — a  good  deal,  Mary,"  I  said. 

"  I  know  you  have.  But  you  seem  not  to  have 
thought  of  that.  No  woman  of  character  could  de- 
spise Rob  Hilton  and  his  splendid  fight." 

"  I  believe  that  you  would  marry  him,"  I  murmured 
aloud,  a  sort  of  helpless  incredulity  in  my  tone. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said.  "  This  much  is  certain  " 
— she  punished  me  with  the  new  light  that  shone  wide 
and  soft  in  her  glorious  eyes — "  I  do  not  believe  that  I 
could  bear  to  marry  anyone  else." 

So  the  die  was  cast,  the  song  was  sung,  the  word 
was  said.  I  retreated,  I  do  not  know  how,  except  that 
I  stalked  away  automatically,  as  a  man  whose  life- 
springs  are  dead. 

Rob  had  finished  his  pipe,  and  left  the  scarecrow 
standing  solitary.  The  gatepost  was  conveniently  near. 
I  leaned  against  it  for  support,  and  as  I  did  so  I  could 
feel  the  rags  of  the  crow-frightener's  right  arm  flut- 
tering caressingly  against  my  cheek. 

Some  things  rose  very  clearly  before  me  then: 
how  Mary  had  chosen  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  up 
here  with  the  wind  for  a  watchdog,  had  accepted  it  de- 
liberately, rather  than  a  softer  life,  for  Duty's  sake. 
How  barren  a  life  it  had  been  for  her,  into  which  Rob 
had  come  with  his  brightness  and  theatrical  position 


338  POWER    LOT 

of  dependence,  with  his  qualities  of  eternal  youth  and 
his  spectacular  fight  against  temptation. 

"  But  she  was  all  the  world  to  me,"  I  blurted  out, 
clenching  my  hard  fists  in  a  kind  of  agony,  being  alone 
with  the  scarecrow.  "  Deep  down  in  my  heart  I  was 
always  thinking  that  perhaps  somehow,  sometime 

"  But  she  loves  him — she  loves  Rob  Hilton."  I 
brought  myself  up  standing.  "  The  story's  told,  the 
dream's  over.  There's  nothing  left  but  to  '  Steer  right 
on.'  That  is  all  the  story  now." 

"  There's  a  storm  brewing  in  the  east,"  shivered 
Scarecrow. 

"  The  more  storm  the  better,"  said  I.  "  I  like  storms. 
When  a  poor  devil's  stripped  of  everything  else  in  the 
world  he's  got  the  storms  left,  anyway.  Give  me  a 
storm  and  a  boat  and  I'm  all  right." 

"Other  folks?  Other  folks?"  screeched  Scarecrow, 
the  wind  wrenching  the  hat  clean  off  his  head. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  I,  capping  him  again.  "  Yes, 
other  folks.  Well,  I'll  do  my  best.  If  that's  the  way 
to  ride  the  gale  out,  I'll  go  that  way."  My  own 
words  came  back  to  me,  spoken  though  they  had  been 
with  a  gush  of  blood  at  the  heart — *  Mary,  if  I  have 
not  been  all  the  friend  I  ought  to  be  to  you  and  Rob 
Hilton,  why,  I  shall  have  a  chance  to  make  up  for  it 
later  on.'  Aye,  and  so  I  will.  I'll  clear  a  way  for 
them  somehow.  That's  settled." 

I  saw  old  man  Trawles  coming  home  along  the  lane, 
driving  his  cow,  and  I,  not  being  in  the  mood  to  be 
seen  or  to  chat  with  him,  jumped  over  into  the  tall 
corn  so  that  he  might  not  discover  me. 

Jacob  Trawles  wore  his  tall  hat,  as  usual,  and  swung 


SCARECROW    AS    COMFORTER          339 

his  cane.  The  cow  stopped  and  gazed  fearfully  at 
Scarecrow  standing  crazily  bold  in  his  rags  by  the 
gatepost. 

"  Sir,"  said  Jacob  Trawles  in  his  best  urban  style 
to  Scarecrow,  whose  features  and  tatters  he  discerned 
but  vaguely  from  where  he  stood ;  "  sir,  will  you  kindly 
step  aside  till  I  have  passed  with  my  cow?  " 

Poor  Scarecrow  whistled  through  all  his  shackling 
constitution,  and  twirled  his  own  rakish  hat  with  his 
hidden  brows  in  sniggering  contempt  of  Jacob's  sup- 
plication. 

"  Sir,"  said  Jacob  to  Scarecrow  with  severe  dignity, 
"  step  aside  at  once,  sir;  you  are  frightening  my 
cow." 

I  held  my  breath  in  a  spasm  of  interest  and  atten- 
tion, lest  I  should  shriek  aloud  even  as  the  gay  wind 
shrieked.  Scarecrow  rattled,  waved,  and  whistled  in 
jaunty  defiance,  and  the  cow  turned  and  plunged  in 
frenzied  retreat. 

"  Sir,"  Jacob  sternly  accused  the  insensate  tatter- 
demalion by  the  gatepost,  "  sir,  I  requested  you,  with 
courtesy,  to  step  aside.  No  gentleman,  no  decent  per- 
son, sir,  would  conduct  himself  as  you  are  doing." 

Poor  Scarecrow  shook  his  hoe-handle  right  arm  in 
a  tiltish  way,  as  full  of  glad  menace  and  challenge  to 
approach. 

Now  I  saw  that  Jacob  Trawles  did  not  essentially 
lack  for  courage. 

"  D — n  your  imperdence ! "  cried  the  insulted  old 
man,  advancing  upon  Scarecrow  with  upraised  cane 
and  whirling  it  over  that  unshrinking  creature's  hat, 
scathless,  for  he  had  no  mind  to  commit  murder.  It 


840  POWER    LOT 

was  when  he  had  cooled  down  enough  to  prod  his  un- 
speakable enemy  persistently  in  the  stomach  with  his 
cane  that  Scarecrow  yielded  up,  unregretfully,  his  brief 
reign  on  earth,  and  fell  in  astonishing  distintegration 
at  his  assailant's  feet. 

"  What  in  the  devil's  almanack ! "  cried  the  startled 
old  man — an  excessive  oath  which  he  used  only  on 
state  occasions  like  the  present.  "  What  in  the ' 

In  the  general  collapse  of  material  before  him,  the 
familiar  aspect  of  old  broom  and  rake  handles,  laths, 
straw,  old  garments,  and  a  battered  hat  sped  from 
a  headless  trunk,  reassured  him  and  advised  him  of  the 
nature  of  the  opponent  whom  he  had  so  valiantly  at- 
tacked. 

"  Now  who  played  that  trick,  I  wonder,"  he  com- 
mented aloud,  with  a  bitter  inflection  of  contempt  for 
the  wit  of  the  perpetrator;  "some  lorn  shif'less  fool 
't  didn't  know  no  more  *n  to  rig  up  a  scarecrow  right 
here  where  everybody's  cows  is  passin'.  If  I  ketch 
him,  I'll " 

He  wiped  his  brow,  looked  long  and  cautiously  about 
him  to  make  sure  that  no  one  had  witnessed  the  re- 
markable scene,  and  then  started  back  down  the  lane 
in  pursuit  of  his  cow. 

I  collected  the  shattered  framework  and  constitu- 
tion of  what  had  been  so  late  my  companion  in  misery, 
picked  up  his  forlorn  garments,  transported  him  a 
piece,  and  set  him  up  to  what  I  trusted  might  be  a  long 
and  useful  existence  in  the  center  of  the  field.  By 
chance,  as  I  was  making  my  exit  from  the  tall  and 
tangled  corn,  I  came  face  to  face  with  Jacob  Trawlcs 
returning  with  his  cow. 


SCARECROW    AS    COMFORTER          341 

I  was  conscious  on  the  instant  that  I  colored  high 
and  leered  guiltily  in  his  face. 

"  Jim  Turbine,"  said  he,  relapsing  wholly  into  the 
vernacular,  "  ain't  you  gittin'  to  be  purty  old  to  be 
playin'  that  kind  o'  harf-witted,  dodderin',  aimless, 
shif 'less  tricks  on  folks?  " 

I  felt  that  I  was  leering  only  the  more  broadly  into 
his  questioning  face. 

"  Wai',  wal',"  said  he,  fixing  me  with  his  dun-brown 
eye»  "  y°u  keep  your  mouth  shet,  Jim,  and  I'll  keep 
mine.  Ha,  ha !  "  he  laughed  with  an  artificiality  in 
which  the  effort  involved  was  something  painful  to 
hear,  "  boys  will  be  boys,  Jim.  Yes,  boys  will  be  boys. 
I — ahem — I  shall  invite  you  to  my  wedding,  Jim." 

I  accepted  his  cajolery  without  resentment.  "  Aim- 
less, shif 'less,"  he  had  called  me;  and,  faith,  but  I  had 
been  hoeing  out  the  corn  of  my  enemy,  for  charity's 
sake,  till  every  bone  in  my  body  ached. 

Sure,  a  man  gathers  up  sweet  plums  of  appreciation 
and  reward  when  he's  running  his  little  universe  for 
the  sake  of  other  folks. 

"  Did  ye  hear,  Jim?  You  keep  your  mouth  shet,  and 
I'll  keep  mine.  I'm  a-goin'  to  invite  ye  to  my  weddin', 
Jim,"  Old  man  Trawles  beamed  on  me. 

"  Thank  ye,  I'll  come,  sure,  if  I'm  ashore,  Jacob. 
I'm  a  master  hand  at  going  to  other  folks'  weddings." 

Maybe  too  much  storm  and  wind  and  general  catas- 
trophe was  mingled  with  my  appointed  voyage  through 
life  for  grief  to  stay  me  long  at  any  one  point.  There 
was  always  the  next  wave  to  face. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

"  AS     FAR     AS     HEAVEN  " 

A  WEEK  had  passed  and  Bate  had  not  yet  returned. 
Mary's  forebodings,  if  the  truth  were  known,  were 
not  only  for  him,  but  also  for  fear  of  tidings  of  some 
criminal  misdoing  of  his,  or  lest  he  should  come  home 
drunk  and  violent  by  night  with  she  knew  not  what 
evil  companions.  Mrs.  Byjo  stepped  out  strong  as 
ever  in  this  emergency. 

"  I'm  coming  over  to  bunk  on  the  lounge  alongside 
your  bed,  Mary.  When  they  was  mixin'  the  mortar  to 
make  me  up,  they  hadn't  a  drop  o'  *  Fear '  to  put  in, 
by  Jo !  Fear's  a  mighty  good  thing,  but  they  was  out 
of  it;  so,  while  the  devil  was  gone  to  town  to  git 
some,  they  finished  the  job  o'  making  me  without  any. 
It  ain't  a  safe  way  to  be  constituted,  I  suppose,  but  it's 
mighty  comfortable."  She  swaggered  cheerily  about 
the  kitchen  and  set  her  constant  friend,  the  oxwhip, 
staunchly  in  a  corner. 

Mary  laughed  in  sympathy  with  the  broad  kindli- 
ness and  courage  on  Mrs.  By  jo's  face.  It  was  plain 
to  see  the  relief  on  Mary's  own  face,  that  had  been 
growing  darkly  haggard  of  late — more  irresistibly 
beautiful  than  ever  to  poor  Rob. 

"  Rob  ain't  got  but  one  arm  at  present,"  continued 
Mrs.  Byjo;  "so  me  and  my  old  oxwhip  will  stand 
guard,  too." 

She  took  a  big  pair  of  spectacles  out  of  her  pocket 
342 


"AS    FAR    AS    HEAVEN"  343 

and  sat  down  by  the  kitchen  lamp  with  one  of  Mary's 
books.  "  You  two  young  people  can  have  the  sitting- 
room  table  for  your  reading,"  she  said,  "  and  clear 
out  o*  here.  When  I  read  I  don't  want  anybody  in- 
terruptin'  me  with  talk,  or  jogglin'  my  elbows;  I  want 
the  whole  world  to  myself  when  I  read,  same  as  when 
I'm  enjoyin'  my  first  mess  o'  greens  in  the  spring,  only 
more  so." 

Mary's  face  was  brighter  than  it  had  been  for  days. 
She  felt  freer  to  converse  with  Rob  of  what  was  on  her 
heart,  and  she  spoke  to  him  in  the  adjoining  room. 

"  I  want  you  to  be  frank  with  me,  if  there  is  anything 
concealed  about  that  day  at  Waldeck,  Rob.  Did—- 
did Bate  sail  over  there  too?  I  have  been  thinking 
lately — he  was  not  at  home  that  day." 

"  Miss  Stingaree,"  said  Rob,  smiling  in  his  ingenuous 
way,  "  it  isn't  hardly  fair,  is  it,  to  ask  me  about  Bate? 
He  sails  and  he  tramps  so  many  ways — how  should  I 
know?" 

"  I've  had  a  horrid  suspicion  haunting  me,  until  Vir- 
ginia came  in  and  dispelled  all  suspicions  with  her 
brave  good-cheer,  that — that,  possibly,  it  was  Bate  who 
was  the  means  of  your  falling  into  the  quarry?  "  She 
was  looking  at  Rob  more  keenly  than  he  realized. 

He  laughed,  and  laughed  again,  with  the  humor  of 
the  idea. 

"  Miss  Stingaree,  I  have  been  able  to  defend  myself 
against  Bate  for  some  time.  You  know  that.  You 
are  not  very  flattering.  It  was  the  turn  of  my  foot  on 
a  miserable  stone  sent  me  slipping  down  there.  The 
fall  was  unexpectedly  abrupt,  and  there  were  jagged 
rocks  below." 


344  POWER    LOT 

"  Rob,  I  believe  that  is  the  first  lie  you  ever  told  me. 
You  and  Jim  might  have  agreed  on  the  same  story,  at 
least.  He  said  the  bank  caved  in.  What  did  happen? 
I  want  to  know  the  truth." 

Rob's  smiling  features  were  expressive  of  the  utmost 
bewilderment  and  confusion.  "  If  Jim  said  the  bank 
caved,  why  then,  that  was  it.  I  was  so  stunned,  you 
know." 

"  You  weren't  stunned  before  the  bank  caved  in,  were 
you?  " 

"  No,  oh  no,  not  at  all ;  but  the  things  that  hap- 
pened just  before  did  not  make  so  much  impression 
on  me,  or  rather,  the  impression  was  sort  of  lost,  you 
understand — I  think  it  is  usual  in  such  cases.  But  I 
can  tell  you  this,  truly — if  Bate  Stingaree  pushed  me 
over  into  the  quarry,  then  I  wasn't  alive  and  knowing 
when  he  did  it,  that's  all!" 

Rob's  forehead  bloomed  with  frankness.  Mary 
caught  at  his  words  eagerly  with  a  sudden  revulsion 
of  feeling,  believing  what  she  was  agonizingly  anxious 
to  believe  that  her  brother  had  not  taken  that  das- 
tardly attempt  at  crime  upon  his  soul. 

"  If  Bate  had  only — would  only — put  himself  in 
training  as  you  have  done,"  she  said.  "  Your  ab- 
stinence, I  mean,  and — and  perfectly  marvelous  faith- 
fulness of  application.  Rob,  do  you  know  of  any  way 
one  could  get  hold  of  Bate  really  to  influence  him? 
You  are  '  intuitive.'  "  She  smiled.  "  Now  I  have  been 
called  *  scholarly,'  here  and  there.  I  have  a  fair  idea 
of  perspective  and  logical  sequences  and  values,  to  *  see 
all  'round  a  thing,'  as  they  say  here;  but  you 
occasion — you  see  as  far  as  heaven,  Rob.  You 


"AS    FAR    AS    HEAVEN"  345 

my  mother  go.  I  shall  never  forget  that.  /  should 
never  have  seen  her  go." 

The  woman's  words  were  soft  as  music,  the  trembling 
of  her  lips  inexpressibly  tender.  Rob  realized  of  a 
sudden  that  Mary  did  not  wholly  disapprove  of  him, 
that  she  had  even  entertained  a  thought  of  him  in  the 
sanctuary  of  her  tenderest  emotions ;  he  drank  some 
of  the  astounding  flattery  of  her  words.  His  weary, 
hopeless  heart  proceeded  to  make  eternity  of  this  mo- 
ment. Past  and  future  were  void;  his  senses  swam 
in  poignant  ecstasy.  He  felt  that  he  must  say  some- 
thing to  keep  her  still  near  him,  not  to  appear  as 
vacuous  before  her,  however  deliciously  light  his  head 
was  perched  upon  his  neck,  so  airy  and  fine  that  it 
was  no  more  trouble  to  him  than  the  head  of  a  sparrow. 

"  That  was  a  great  dream,"  he  said,  "  that  about 
your  mother ;  and  I'm  not  usually  much  of  a  dreamer, 
either." 

"Rob,  how  can  I  get  hold  of  Bate?  Can  you  tell 
me?  " 

She  followed  one  hope  persistently,  but  there  was 
the  trace  of  girlish  emotion  still  trembling  on  her  lips ; 
and  there  were  her  wonderful  witch-dark  eyes  asking 
him  for  advice  and  aid. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  with  absolute  honesty,  the  mo- 
ment was  so  transcendent,  "  if  he  cared  enough  for 
someone  to  want  to  win  their  respect  though  he  died 
doing  it — I  believe  I'll  tell  you  something,  Miss  Stinga- 
ree;  since  it  is  all  a  hopeless  business  for  me,  you 
won't  mind  now,  I  believe,  if  I  tell  you.  You  must 
not  feel  that  you  are  unkind.  It  was  a  good  thing, 
so  don't  you  worry;  but  it  hit — hard  as  death." 


346  POWER    LOT 

"  Do  go  on,  Rob,"  said  Mary,  much  wondering. 

"  Since  it  is  all  a  hopeless  business  for  me,  and  I 
have  not  even  any  right,  I  suppose,  to  tell  you  how 
much  I  began  to  think  about  you  at  one  time;  in  fact, 
I  thought  about  you  every  blessed  minute  of  the  time. 
A  fellow  could  not  help  it,  you  know.  Well,  I  wandered 
up  to  the  old  church  one  evening — what  they  call 
*  Spook  House  ' — and  lo  and  behold !  you  and  Jim  were 
standing  over  in  front  of  it  talking  together,  and  it 
came  back  through  the  old  broken  windows  to  me 
where  I  stood,  and  before  I  could  turn  away  you  were 
speaking  of  me  and  you  said :  *  He  is  not  a  man  at 
all ! '  That  is  what  you  said,"  concluded  Rob  with  half- 
averted  face,  on  which  strength  and  dignity  mingled 
with  a  world  of  ardent  adoration,  not  to  speak  of  for- 
giveness, if  forgiveness  were  required  for  those  soul- 
biting  words. 

Mary's  cheek  was  streaked  with  so  dark  a  red  as 
though  a  sudden  arrow  had  been  sent  to  her  heart. 

"  After  that,"  Rob  went  on,  "  I  did  not  care  about 
drink,  or  pleasure,  or  anything ;  at  first,  I  did  not  even 
care  about  you.  It  stopped  every  hope  of  the  living 
in  me.  It  killed  me.  It  drove  me  " — Rob's  face  settled 
to  its  sterner  lines,  and  his  voice  grew  tense  and  deep — 
"  it  drove  me,  when  I  was  able  to  pick  myself  up  on  to 
my  feet  once  more,  to  a  resolution  that  was  bigger 
than  all  things  else  in  my  eyes.  I  vowed  that  I  would 
stand  alone,  and  do  the  right  thing,  whether  anybody 
knew  it  or  not,  or  loved  me  or  not;  that  I'd  be  a  man 
to  suit  my  own  ideals  on  the  subject,  which  are  as 
high  as  yours,  perhaps ;  though  I  haven't  got  far  on 
the  road  yet,  but,  God  knows,  I've  been  trying — some." 


"AS    FAR    AS    HEAVEN"  347 

Mary's  voice  was  like  the  soft,  clear  tone  of  a  flute ; 
it  seemed  angelic,  but  heartless,  to  Rob. 

"  You  think,  if  Bate  could  care  really  to  win  some- 
one's respect,  or — hear  some  very  harsh  words  about 
himself — it  might  redeem  him?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Rob  drearily.  Then  he  lifted 
his  head  again.  "  I'll  do  all  in  mortal  power  to  help 
you  with  your  brother,  Miss  Stingaree." 

"  How  would  it  be,  generally  speaking,  in  a  case  like 
that  you  have  described  to  me,"  Mary's  clear,  flute-like, 
impersonal  tone  went  on,  "  after  hearing  so  unkind, 
thoughtless,  and — exaggerated  a  criticism  of  himself; 
though  entirely  forgiving,  perhaps,  out  of  a  great 
nature,  a  person  would  never  care  as  before  for  one 
who  had  uttered  such  unfortunate  words  ?  " 

"  They  were  not  unfortunate,  after  all,  perhaps,"  ex- 
claimed Rob  generously,  quite  off  his  guard ;  "  though 
they  knocked  a  fellow  down,  when  he  got  on  his  feet  he 
had  his  jaws  set  for  good,  you  know;  he  had  his  mind 
made  up,  and  he  wouldn't  have  stuck  at  going  through 
hell  itself  to  carry  out  his  resolution.  Don't  you 
see?" 

"  Yes,  I  see," — Mary  smiled  with  composure, — "  but 
there  could  never  be  the  same  regard  for  her  who  had 
spoken  them." 

That  honeyed,  reed-like  voice  would  have  deceived  a 
wiser  head  than  Rob's  that  swam  so  high  and  airily,  as 
light  as  a  humming  bird's  in  Mary's  dear  presence,  and 
under  the  spell  of  her  eyes,  though  he  was  sadly  re- 
solved that  she  was  altogether  heartless. 

"  Perhaps  not  in  some  instances,"  he  replied,  utterly 
tactless,  supremely  fatuous.  "  But  for  me,  in  less 


348  POWER    LOT 

than  a  day,  I  only  grew  to — to  love  you  more,  though 
it  was  hopeless,  and  more  and  more,  God  help  me,  every 
day  of  my  life." 

"  So  many  days,"  sighed  the  sweet  and  heartless 
voice ;  "  but  I  shall  always  have  to  remember  there  was 
one  day,  Rob,  when  you  did  not  love  me." 

He  thought  she  was  going  to  laugh.  He  looked  up 
curiously,  and  saw  only  a  very  grave  and  beautiful 
profile  contemplating  spaces  and  infinitudes  that  had  no 
connection  with  his  poor  story. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  he  murmured  despairingly ; 
"  probably  I  did  that  day  too,  although  I  did  not 
know  it." 

She  did  laugh,  softly,  but  to  his  astonishment  there 
were  tears  in  the  eyes  that  turned  to  meet  his. 

"  Then,  since  you  include  that  day  too,  and  there  is 
no  omission,  I  think  I  have  something  to  tell  you,  too, 
Rob."  The  bright  wave  of  crimson  that  swept  over  her 
face  changed  to  a  divine  pallor,  as  she  made  thus  her 
great  amends  to  him.  "  Though  it  is  all  hopeless,  as  you 
say,  yet  I  should  always  want  to  remember  that  I  told 
you  this.  If  it  is  any  comfort  to  you,  to  hear  it  from 
me,  why,  then,  I  want  you  to  know,  Rob,  that  you  are 
more  of  a  man  in  my  eyes  than  any  other  I  have  ever 
met  on  earth;  and  that  I  love  you,  Robert  lad,  I  love 
you  with  all  my  heart.  Now,  go.  We  must  bear  our 
lives,  and  God  help  us  to  bear  them." 

"  Mary ! — Mary !  "  gasped  Rob,  his  beatific  face 
confirming  her  recent  statement  that  he  could  "  see  as 
far  as  heaven,"  "  do  you  mean — that  you  care  for  me 
a  man  you  could  have  married?  " 

"  A  man  whom  I  did  not  consider  worthy  of  that 


"AS    FAR    AS    HEAVEN"  349 

honor  " — the  flute-voice  renewed  its  smooth  and  even 
music — "  would  not  be  the  one  I  have  just  described 
to  your  humble  sense  as  the  strongest,  noblest,  and 
bravest  that  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  meet.  Now,  mad 
though  you  are  for  flattery,  Robert,  I  have  said  those 
words  for  the  last  time.  We  must  meet  the  future 
bravely.  In  a  sense,  this  must  be  our  farewell:  it  is 
'  hail  and  farewell,'  for  us,  Robert  lad." 

"  No — never,  never ! "  said  Rob  breathlessly,  as 
though  he  actually,  plunged  through  the  pearly  gates 
of  bliss ;  "  there'll  be  a  way !  There  must  be  a  way ! 
I'll  make  a  way  !  I  was  not  worthy — but  I've  won  you ! 
Say  I've  won  you,  since  you  care  for  me.  Oh,  God! 
I  thought  the  way  was  hard,  and  all  the  time  I  was 
climbing  up  a  hill  that  led  to  glory  and  the  joy  of  life." 
He  rose  and  strode  once  back  and  forth  across  the 
room,  his  humming-bird  lightness  of  head  carrying 
him  altogether  into  the  realms  of  bliss. 

"  I'll  make  a  way,  my  beautiful,  my  dearest " 

"  Virginia  is  stirring,"  said  the  flute-voice,  low. 
"  You  are  behaving  insanely.  She  will  come  in  here 
presently." 

"  She  will  only  think  you  have  refused  me,"  bending 
the  ecstasy  of  his  smile  on  Mary.  "  I  am  going  out  to 
tell  her.  Come  with  me,  or  I  shall  think  I  am  dreaming. 
Come  with  me,  dearest.  You  owe  me  this  much.  Re- 
member the  unkind  '  exaggerated '  speech  you  made 
about  me." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Mary  sadly ;  "  but  we  must  re- 
member other  things  as  well.  We  are  not  free,  neither 
you  nor  I." 

"  What  binds  you?  "  said  Rob,  in  a  flash,  gritting 


350  POWER    LOT 

his  teeth  in  her  very  face,  like  a  lion  about  to  start  out 
on  the  devouring  path.  Mary  smiled. 

"Not  a  lover,"  she  made  haste  to  say,  "but  I 
shall  not  leave  Bate;  no  one  else  would  make  a  home 
for  him,  or  have  two  days'  patience  with  him.  No  one. 
Even  if  you  were  free,"  she  reminded  him,  very  gently, 
for  his  joy  was  sweet  to  her. 

Hob's  "  intuitive  "  eyes,  scorning  all  barriers,  took 
infinite  largess  of  the  future.  He  shrugged  his  broad 
shoulders  as  though  the  world  of  sot-did  entanglement, 
j:rivation,  and  doubt  fell  from  them  lightly. 

"  Besides,"  she  said,  "  remember  it  was  your  faith- 
fulness to  what  you  believed  to  be  your  duty  that  won 
i::c  to  you,  made  me  trust  you.  It  would  be  a  poor  re- 
ward if  your  love  for  me  made  you  give  up  the  fight, 
Hob." 


CHAPTER    XXVII 


THE  tremendous  gorge  of  the  River  seemed  to  miss 
half  the  tides.  It  filled,  of  course,  regularly;  but  to 
me,  in  memory,  it  seems  ever  to  lie  there,  bare,  eating  its 
heart  out  in  smiting  sun  and  shrieking  wind,  ragged 
with  bowlders,  its  few  harbored  vessels  lying  in  the  ways 
exposed  like  ghosts  without  an  element. 

Well,  the  tide  had  gone  out  of  my  soul,  too,  and  left 
it  stony  and  dry,  only  the  ghosts  of  dead  hopes 
stranded  bleak  along  its  channel. 

Captain  Belcher,  shouting  cheerfully  along  the  high- 
way with  his  oxen,  seemed  a  denizen  of  another  world. 
But  I  had  business  with  him. 

"  Stu,"  said  I,  "  you  got  to  speak  up.  I'm  boss. 
It's  my  turn.  I'm  running  the  thing  now.  Here's  a 
paper  ready  made.  Read  it,  and  put  your  fist  to  it,  or 
we'll  see  which  is  the  best  man,  you  or  me.  We'll  settle 
it  within  this  very  identical  ten  minutes  right  here  on 
the  ground.  Here's  pen  and  ink.  I  brought  'em  in  my 
pocket  a  purpose." 

WITNESSETH,  Stuyvesant  Belcher  and  James 
Turbine:  I,  Stuyvesant  Belcher  do  hereby  say 
and  acknowledge,  that,  the  justice  of  the  peace 
being  at  the  time  incapacitated,  I  myself  did  by 
way  of  a  jest  perform  a  ceremony  purporting  and 
351 


352  POWER    LOT 

pretending  to  be  a  marriage  ceremony  uniting 
Cuby  Tee-bo  and  Robert  Hilton.  But,  having  no 
license  or  authority  to  perform  any  such  ceremony, 
I  do  hereby  declare  and  confess  the  same  to  be  null 
and  void,  and  in  no  way  binding  upon  the  said 
Cuby  Tee-bo  and  Robert  Hilton. 

And  I,  James  Turbine,  whose  name  is  also  affixed 
hereto,  do  say  and  covenant,  that  no  persecution 
by  law  or  otherwise  shall  be  instituted  or  carried 
on  against  the  said  Stuyvesant  Belcher. 

Signed, 

Signed,   JAMES  TURBINE. 

"  Jim,  you're  a  scholar,"  said  Belcher  reflectively, 
looking  long  and  keenly  at  me ;  "  you  got  it  bad.  Now, 
Jim,  the  'arth  is  all  'iled  and  runnin'  smooth.  Why 
don't  ye  let  her  be  till  she  begins  ter  creak?  Then  I'd 
see  what  I  c'd  do." 

I  laughed.     "  Sign  here,  Stu,"  I  said. 

"  Whar'd  ye  steal  this  pen,  Jim?  Which  end  d'  ye 
dip  in  the  fluid?  Mix  a  pint  bottle  o'  ink  next  time, 
'stead  o'  a  quart,  an'  put  in  more  bootblack,  an'  less 
dough  an'  hens'-ile,  Jim;  add  a  leetle  molasses  soon  as 
ye  git  home,  and  a  tetch  o'  new  milk  and  cinnamon 
— somethin'  soothin*.  I  better  sign  my  own  copy, 
too?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Jim,  see  here ;  I  can't  git  this  signature  ter  look 
like  the  other.  First  time  I  signed  my  name  there  was 
a  ham-rind  stickin'  to  the  point  o'  the  pen,  and  now 
I'm  workin'  around  here  with  a  griddle-cake  that 
fastened  onto  the  nib  second  time  I  dipped  her  into  the 


THE    "WRASTLE"    BY    THE    RIVER     353 

bottle.  The'  ain't  no  manner  o'  resemblance  between 
them  two  signatures.  I  sh'll  be  held  up  for  forgery." 

"  No,  I'll  look  out  for  that." 

"  You'll  pertect  me,  Jim  ?  "  said  Belcher,  with  a  great 
affectation  of  maiden  simplicity. 

"  I'll  stand  by  ye  to  the  last  ditch,  Stu." 

"  Because,  ef  ye  couldn't,  I'm  perfectly  competent 
ter  look  out  f'r  myself.  So  you're  runnin'  things  now, 
are  ye,  Jim?  I  thought  the  sun  was  risin'  kind  o'  dif- 
ferent this  mornin',  and  the  tides  hove  in  as  ef  some- 
thin'  was  werryin'  'em.  Wai',  don't  be  too  brash,  Jim. 
Handle  'em  easy.  How  do  ye  like  yer  position?  Does 
the  highmightiness  of  it  pay  ye  for  the  pains  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Never  mind.  Somebody's  got  ter  do  it,  an'  Fm 
glad  o'  a  rest,  tell  you  work  up  a  herric'n  an*  I  have 
ter  step  in  an*  put  things  ter  rights  again.  Wai',  can 
I  move  on  now,  or  is  thar'  any  more  writin'  ter  do? 
Good-by,  Jim.  Remember  what  I  told  ye  about  puttin' 
some  fresh-laid  eggs,  well  beaten,  and  a  tablespoonful 
o'  vanilla  extrac'  inter  that  ink." 

I  put  Rob's  release  safe  in  my  inner  pocket.  When 
you  are  clearing  the  way  for  other  people's  bliss,  and 
the  woman  in  it  has  grown  into  your  life  till  you  don't 
hardly  know  lif e  without  her,  you  see  blank  for  a  while ; 
that  is,  if  you're  not  a  better  man  than  ever  I  was. 

As  I  stood  staring  a  bit  toward  the  hill,  meditating 
whether  it  was  better  to  climb  it  at  once  and  deliver 
over  the  paper  to  Rob,  or  sail  direct  over  to  Waldeck 
and  telegraph  Doctor  Margate  to  come  on  and  re- 
establish his  charge  financially,  and  take  him  and  Mary 
away  out  of  harm,  not  knowing  what  might  befall  them 


354  POWER    LOT 

from  the  Gar'  Tce-bo  and  Bate  source,  especially  now 
if  the  altered  conditions  of  Rob's  life  were  known ;  so, 
as  I  stood,  Cuby  herself  came  running  to  me  from  her 
cabin  door,  all  excitement,  the  brown  hair  on  her  fore- 
head waving,  hatless. 

"  Oh,  Jeem,  the  bears  is  comin' !  The  bears  is  comin' ! 
Look  you ! " 

I  looked,  and  saw — a  recurrent  yearly  event  in  this 
region — three  tawny  bears  of  huge  dimensions  led  by 
their  keepers,  approaching  along  the  bluffs,  creeping 
mightily  and  cumbrously  along;  resigned  and  hopeless 
travelers,  soon  to  go  through  a  forced  dance  and  pass 
the  obsequious  hat  before  us. 

"  Sure  enough,"  I  said.     "  Lord  pity  them." 

"  Come  along,  Jim,"  cried  Cuby,  her  bright  face 
glowing,  her  eyes  shining  a  rebuke  at  my  indifference; 
"  come  you  down  to  be  near  them  when  they  dance." 

She  caught  my  hand,  and  I  followed.  Mysteriously 
arising  from  all  quarters  boys  and  girls,  men  and 
women,  began  to  dot  the  face  of  nature ;  from  Joggins 
and  the  steep  way  and  the  lanes  in  all  directions,  the 
groups  began  to  gather  in  a  nucleus  at  the  River  set- 
tlement. 

I  saw  Rob,  one  arm  upheld  in  a  sling,  little  Rhody 
Ditmarse  drawing  him  eagerly  by  the  other  hand.  He 
smiled  when  he  saw  us  and  came  instantly  over  to  us. 

Rhody's  small  and  wise  countenance  was  abeam  with 
the  general  excitement  and  satisfaction. 

"  Me  an'  Rob  cut  a  great  pace  hyperin'  down  here 
to  the  f  rolick,  soon  as  ever  we  see  the  bears  a-comin'," 
she  said,  and  added,  in  explanation  of  the  green  apples 
she  was  heartily  devouring,  «'  pf  course,  seein'  as  I  was 


THE    "WRASTLE"    BY    THE    RIVER    355 

off  on  a  good  time,  I  had  to  ketch  off  a  few.  cholerj- 
balls  to  chew  on  the  way." 

Rob  gave  his  familiar  laugh  of  supreme  enjoyment 
and  marveling  admiration  of  Rhody.  I  can  see  that 
genial  face,  to  this  day;  no  covert  ridicule  there,  but 
only  as  if  he  said,  "Was  there  ever  such  a  brilliant 
little  girl  as  this?  "  She  made  a  hopeful  diversion,  for 
though  Rob  and  Cuby  made  some  talk  together,  they; 
were  not  at  ease  in  each  other's  company. 

"  My,  but  I  admire  your  cap  w'at  you  wear,  little 
Rhode',"  said  Cuby,  as  if  making  friends  on  the  whole 
with  this  small  and  competent  being  who  had  once  so 
emphatically  relieved  her  from  the  situation  of  "  Grief  " 
on  the  Sunday-school  stage ;  "  it  mus'  make-a  you 
proud,  that  cap." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Rhody  gravely ;  "  they  come  free. 
But,  o'  course,  I  couldn't  wear  my  Sunday  hat  to  the 
bear-frolick.  A  man  goes  around  givin'  these  away, 
an'  you  wear  it  all  around  so  as  to  make  known  the 
goods  what's  wrote  on  it."  There  was  an  illustration 
of  a  table  on  Rhody's  cap,  surrounded  by  a  family 
group,  from  aged  grandparent  to  infant  in  highchair, 
and  above  the  festive  scene  shone  in  clear  type  the 
words,  "  Home  Circle  Tea." 

"  Car'line  Treet,"  continued  Rhody,  "  keeps  wearin' 
her  old  *  sody '  cap.  She  says,  *  A  dog  't  ye  know, 
with  its  fur  droopin',  is  better  'n  a  strange  cat  with 
a  ribbond  'round  its  neck.'  Mebby  she's  right,  but 
anyway,  Home  Circle  Tea's  cap  is  the  very  last  one 
they've  been  'round  with,  and  all  the  children's 
a-wearin'  'em  " — a  statement  confirmed  on  the  spot  by 
the  moving  panorama  of  caps  bearing  that  legend. 


356  POWER    LOT 

Rhody  put  up  her  hard  little  fist  to  grasp  Rob's 
hand  in  ecstasy  as  the  bears  came  lunging  down  the 
steeps,  and  Rob  held  her  hand,  smiling. 

I  knew  not  whether  to  slip  the  paper,  then,  into  his 
possession.  While  at  sight  of  his  face,  I  found  my- 
self willing  enough,  and  eager,  to  do  that,  yet  the  look 
of  Bate's  face  and  Gar'  Tee-bo's  glooming  on  the  far 
edge  of  the  group  bade  me  restrain  the  impulse  yet 
a  while.  I  was  thinking  it  might  be  better  first  to  make 
my  sail  to  Waldeck  and  send  my  message  to  the  doctor, 
and — to  have  another  talk  with  Cuby. 

"  Forward-a-march-a ! "  commanded  the  keepers  of 
their  bears,  in  stentorian  Italian  mingled  with  evidences 
of  a  bad  cold  in  the  head.  The  three  great  beasts  stood 
erect,  and  marched  in  time  to  an  execrable  tune  sniffled 
wearily  and  perfunctorily  through  the  noses  of  the 
three  showmen ;  marched  and  counter-marched,  gigantic 
creatures,  offspring  of  the  wilds  about  them,  who  could 
have  annihilated  their  keepers  by  a  stroke  of  the  paw 
and  scattered  the  multitude  like  chaff  before  the  wind. 

Their  eyes  were  sodden,  dull.  The  mighty  wilder- 
ness that  had  been  theirs  by  right  lay  all  about  them ; 
and  they,  tamed  to  earn  their  masters'  bread  and  to 
forego  their  very  nature — the  epitome  of  awful  pa- 
tience and  of  all-crushed  desire — they  danced  and 
climbed  the  swaying  flagpole  and  "  said  their  prayers  " 
amid  the  jibes  of  the  crowd  with  the  huge  compliance 
of  painfully  uplifted  paws. 

The  tide  was  creeping  in  apace ;  with  it  came  the  wind 
of  all  bold  adventure  and  triumph  over  adversity  and 
pain. 

"  Now  wrastle-a-wrastle-a  for  the  people." 


THE    "WRASTLE"    BY    THE    RIVER     357 

They  clinched  and  struggled  in  forced  combat,  growl- 
ing angrily,  so  well  trained,  indeed,  to  simulated  wrath 
that  their  huge  embrace  showed  intensely  dramatic 
against  the  background  of  the  sea  and  hills.  There 
was  a  strange  majesty  about  them;  the  wilderness  was 
still  in  them,  and  imperial  strength.  In  my  heart  I 
commended  them  to  break  away  and  make  for  the  lair 
of  the  forests  that  was  waiting  to  receive  them,  but 
they  struggled  on  with  sovereign  obedience. 

"  No  man  is  my  keeper,"  I  muttered.  "  I  do  so 
because  I  will — and  I'll  do  it  with  joy,  by  God,  because 
I  am  a  man." 

"  What?  "  said  Cuby.  "You  make-a  talk  to  your- 
self, Jeem?  "  and  she  laughed. 

The  crowd  was  dispersing;  the  keepers,  with  the  hat 
of  coppers  collected  through  the  incongruous  whining 
and  scraping  of  the  mighty  bears,  had  tied  the  beasts 
to  a  meal  in  the  shed  while  they  entered  the  "  boarding- 
house  "  for  refreshment.  Rob  and  Rhody  were  begin- 
ning the  ascent  of  the  hill.  The  release  paper  was  still 
in  my  pocket,  and  there  was  much  to  do. 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  myself,  Cuby,"  I 
answered.  "  I  want  to  talk  with  you.  It's  in  dead 
earnest,  too."  We  turned,  walking  slowly  toward  her 
cabin  together. 

"  You  know,  Cuby,  I've  always  loved  Mary  Stin- 
garee.  I  love  her  still,  but  that's  over." 

"  God  is  good  to  you,  Jeem,"  declared  Cuby,  with  a 
brave  toss  of  the  head. 

"  Now,  you  like  to  flirt  with  about  everybody,  Cuby, 
and  you've  tried  it  a  little  on  me,  when  there  was  no 
better  subject,  I'm  a  rough  old  fellow.  I  don't  expect 


358  POWER    LOT 

or  reckon  you  could  love  me.  But  I've  been  thinking ; 
and  it  seems  to  me,  when  we've  got  things  settled,  you 
and  I  had  better  make  out  to  sea  together,  and  try 
some  new  port  for  setting  up  a  shanty.  What  do  you 
say,  little  girl?  " 

"  Me,"  said  Cuby  in  pale  earnest.  "  I  care  not  who 
you  loaf,  so  you  let  me  mek'  sail  with  you,  Jeem." 

"  Do  you  care  so  much  about  sailing  as  that?  " 

"  Look  you,"  she  said,  her  eyes  very  wide  on  mine. 
"  I  care  for  sailing,  yes ;  but  I  loaf-a  you,  Jeem." 

"  So  you  told  Rob,  once?  " 

"  But  he — no !  I  play  with  heem.  I  mek'  b'lieve. 
See,  I  cross-a  my  heart ;  it  was  you  always  I  loaf.  Now, 
I  have  said,  an'  I  am  not  ashem'." 

The  stars  of  her  eyes  looked  boldly,  yet  with  a  certain 
flower-like  womanly  sweetness,  at  me,  out  of  her  pale 
face ;  but  above  all  things  I  saw,  to  my  sudden  enlight- 
enment and  amaze,  that  they  were  full  of  truth. 

"  Nothin'  can  mek'  to  scare  you  an'  me,  Jeem,"  she 
laughed  with  a  catch  in  her  breath.  "  We  go  very  good 
together." 

"  But  I  am  frightened  to  have  you  stay  here,  Cuby. 
Your  father  and  Bate  are  running  down  hill;  they  are 
making  their  spree  permanent;  they  are  drinking  so 
much  rum  these  days  they  are  hardly  responsible 
beings." 

"  Look  you,  Jeem."  Cuby  glanced  all  about  her,  her 
little  forefinger  lifted  hushingly  and  warningly  at  me. 
"  Jeem,"  she  whispered,  "  I  know  very  much.  Eef  you 
let  me  not  to  go  with  you,  I  have  med  my  mind  I  shall 
run  away  by  myself.  Hush — they  are  weecked !  They 
mek'  talk  by  themselves  when  they  have  drink  too  much* 


THE    "WRASTLE"    BY    THE    RIVER     359 

They  theenk  I  am  frien's  to  them.  I  am  not  frien's 
to  them — but  I  tell  no  one  but  you — hush." 

"  What  is  it,  little  girl?  You  can  trust  me.  As  you 
say,  you  and  I  '  go  together  '  henceforth.  What  are 
they  planning?  There's  no  one  about.  Do  not  be 
afraid.  In  a  few  days'  time,  I  will  have  you  out  of  this 
for  good.  Tell  me  all,  Cuby." 

"  They  plan  a  harm  to  you  and  Rob  both.  Bot 
Marsy,  w'at  come  in  shore  two  days  ago — he  halp  them 
in  it.  I  was  happen*  to  be  the  other  side  the  wall, 
pickin'  chips.  They  was  drunk.  I  hear  them.  They  say 
Rob  has  money,  an'  purty  soon — they  say — you  shall 
sail  to  Waldeck  and  get  your  money  an'  mek'  away  out 
o'  here." 

"  Now,  how  did  they  know  that,  the  devils.  I  had 
not  told  even  you.  I  had  not  made  up  my  mind  until 
to-day." 

"  My  father  gets  a  scare  of  them.  They  dreenk, 
an'  mek'  a  gre't  laugh,  an'  say  they  shall  nip  thdfmonies 
off  you  an'  Rob  biffore  you  mek'  away.  They  say  they 
shall  with  the  monies  mek'  away  themselves,  an'  carry 
me  with  them.  But  they  shall  not.  I  med'  my  mind. 
I  shall  more  rather  die.  My  father  gets  a  scare  at 
them.  When  they  was  seelly  with  the  dreenk  he  turn-a 
them  out  of  his  house.  Hush,  Jeem,  eef  they  know  I 
tell-a  you  they  keell  me.  They  sleep  at  the  «  Spook 
House.'  They  have  much  dreenk  there.  Only  me  an' 
my  father  know.  Eef  we  tell,  they  keell  us ;  eef  I  tell, 
my  father  keell  me.  They  said  it  is  comin'  a  full 
moon,  an'  they  see  all  over  the  worl'  up  at  the  Spook 
House,  so,  whan  it  is  good  tarn'  they  nip  the  monies 
off  you  an'  Rob,  an'  mek'  away." 


360  POWER    LOT 

"  Is  that  all?  "  I  said  cheerfully.  "  I  could  defend 
myself  against  half-a-dozen  such  fellows,  little  girl. 
They  will  not  molest  you  till  they  get  the  moneys ;  and 
as  for  Rob — I'll  not  tell  him,  never  fear — but  I'll  see 
that  he  stays  safe  indoors  o'  nights,  and  that  a  strong 
man  sleeps  in  the  shed  for  guard.  I  know  just  the 
man." 

"  Oh,  but  Jeem — Jeem — eef  they  come  behind  you 
in  the  night,  eef  they  strak'  you  on  a  sudden.  Ah — 
they  say  you  an'  Rob  weesh  to  parsacute  them  an'  put 
them  in  a  preeson — they  say  they  got  a  right  for  to 
do  you." 

"  Have  patience  just  a  little  while  longer,  Cuby,  and 
trust  me.  I  must  see  some  things  settled  before  we  go. 
Your  marriage  to  Rob  was  no  marriage.  It  was  a 
farce.  You  knew  that?  " 

She  smiled  intelligently.  "  Nem'  it  not  to  me,"  she 
said.  "  Nem'  that  to  me  no  more.  It  was  stupeed.  I 
mek'  a  laugh  at  myself." 

"  And  you  are  ready  at  any  time  to  say  that  it 
was  Belcher  and  not  Dessup  who  performed  that 
ceremony?  " 

"  Sart'nlee,"  smiled  Cuby.  "  It  is  but  to  amuse. 
But,  Jeem,  say  you  not'ings  until  you  an'  me  go  away  to- 
gether. My  father  keel  me.  Ah,  Jeem,"  she  continued, 
her  face  unclouded  by  the  former  sinister  reflection, 
"  I  weell-a  mek'  you  'appy.  I  am  good  sailor.  I  work 
for  you.  I  mek'  all  clean.  I  cook — ah,  Jeem,  I  am  one 
cook  celebrate'." 

"  That  is  good.  I  am  tired  of  my  old  frying-pan. 
For  years  I've  been  contented  over  in  my  cabin  or  on 
cruise,  making  my  bread,  frying  my  fish,  and  hashing 


THE    "WRASTLE"    BY    THE    RIVER     361 

my  potatoes  in  that  old  pan ;  but  we  want  all  things  new, 
don't  we,  Cuby,  when  we  go  out  with  the  tide  some  day 
soon,  and  forage  around  for  a  home  in  some  new 
quarter  of  the  earth?  We'll  begin  all  new,  my  girl; 
and  when  I  come  back  from  Waldeck  we  must  go  to 
old  Dessup  and  get  married." 

"  What-a.  You  marry  me,  Jeem?  "  cried  Cuby,  as 
loud  as  she  dared  whisper.  "  You  mek'-a  to  marry  me 
forever  an*  ever  your  wife?  Jeem,  I  leef  for  you.  I 
die  for  you.  See,  I  fall  on  my  knee " 

"  No,  no,"  I  said,  holding  her,  "  my  little  girl.  What 
did  you  think  " — the  pathos  of  it  melted  me  to  a  sense 
of  eternal  loyalty.  "My  wife? — of  course.  Forever? 
— yes.  And  I'll  be  true  and  good  to  you,  Cuby." 

With  her  hand  trembling  in  mine  I  looked  at  the 
bleak  gorge  where  the  incoming  tide  would  make  a 
sweet,  full  river  by  and  by,  and  I  thought  not  too 
sadly  now  of  the  hour  when  we  should  make  out  to 
where  the  ocean,  too,  is  eternal.  A  hand  that^  confides 
in  you  is  a  hand  that  supports  you  most  of  all>  A  little 
touch  like  that  is  beyond  the  fire  and  challenge  of  love ; 
the  charge  is  inalienable. 

And  I  should  prove  myself  Rob's  friend,  and  Mary's. 
Mary — the  courting  of  her  would  be  a  high  office  for 
any  man,  meeting  proud  self-respect,  lofty  intelligence, 
angelic  condescension ;  but  there  came  to  me  the  shadow 
of  a  thought,  that  perhaps  Cuby's  giving  of  herself 
held  in  it  something  a  bit  more  by  way  of  grandeur, 
after  all. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE    STEEP    WAY 

So  much  more  did  I  demand  of  Belcher,  that  I  en- 
listed his  services  to  sleep  for  one  night,  unknown  to 
the  family  within,  and  on  oath  of  secrecy,  in  the  shed 
of  the  Stingaree  house. 

Thereafter  I  could  guard  the  house  myself;  but  I 
was  for  sailing  to  Waldeck  that  very  night  so  as  to 
make  the  return  trip  on  the  morrow.  The  message 
must  be  sent  at  once. 

Belcher  spent  a  night  of  much  humor  in  the  shed, 
according  to  his  relation  to  me  of  those  circumstances 
afterwards. 

"  I've  suffered  for  ye,  Jim,"  said  he.  "  What  are 
ye  so  scart  about  Ma'y  Stingaree  for?  The's  nothin' 
around  to  harm  her.  She's  mittened  ye  anyway,  eh? 
You're  a  durn  crank,  Jim.  You  been  a  partly  sup- 
portin'  her  an'  Bate  unbeknownst  to  'em  this  long  while, 
like  a  chapter  outer  the  gospil.  You  ain't  no  gospil. 
You're  a  durn  tuff,  two-lcggid  crank,  that's  what  you 
be.  Why  don't  ye  haul  yerself  tergether  and  act  like 
a  Christian?  " 

"  I'm  aiming  for  that,  Stu." 

"  Wai',  ye  won't  aim  through  me  ag'in.  I've  spent 
my  last  night  in  that  hell-racket.  I'd  ruther  make  ray 
piller  on  the  flats  'long  o'  the  clams.  They're  quiet. 
I'd  no  sunner  wrinch  a  rat  off  'n  my  ear  an'  throw  him 
agin  the  side  o*  the  shed,  than  I'd  have  ter  pull  one  off 


THE    STEEP    WAY  363 

my  nose.  Ef  I  opened  my  mouth,  they'd  begin  ter 
draw  my  teeth.  Then  when  I'd  slew  so  many  of  Jem 
that  I  was  wore  out  and  kind  o'  dozed  off,  ef  three 
Toms  an'  harf-a-dozen  Betty  cats  f  ollerin'  didn't  make 
a  dash  at  that  little  eight-by-ten-inch  winderpane  in  the 
rear  o'  the  shed  ter  git  in  outer  the  rain;  they  lep  so 
husky,  an'  so  fur,  they  landed  clean  acrost  the  shed 
on  my  sleepin'  mouth,  every  durn  one  of  'em.  Wai', 
don't  say  nothin',"  sighed  Belcher ;  "  Jim,  I've  suffered 
for  ye." 

"  I'll  never  forget  it,  Stu." 

"  Ye  better  not,  ye  blame  ol'  cabinet-size  fool,"  re- 
sponded Belcher,  with  a  wink  of  such  cheerful  confidence 
it  almost  took  on  the  hue  of  affection. 

If  Belcher  passed  a  night  which  he  was  able  to  con- 
strue afterwards  into  so  jocose  an  epic,  I  managed  to 
make  a  joy  as  well  of  that  dark  long  sail  to  Waldeck. 
It  came  on  to  rain,  and  the  wind  blew.  But  I  knew  my 
course.  I  liked  that  night !  I  loved  it !  By  Heaven,  I 
had  joy!  The  storm  and  I  fought  it  out  alone  in  the 
darkness.  I  tried  my  boat  and  sped  her  on.  I  knew 
we  should  not  fail. 

It  was  too  early  for  business  in  the  town  when  I  tied 
to  the  wharf  off  Waldeck ;  so  I  lay  down  to  take  a  nap 
in  the  cuddy  of  my  own  boat.  When  I  woke  the  day 
had  dawned  soft  and  warm.  I  missed  the  cold  wind 
and  the  storm,  and  went  languidly  in  the  sunshine,  a 
sort  of  ghost,  preoccupied,  amid  the  crude  and  noisy 
traffic  round  about  me ;  and  I  sent  my  message.  I  drew 
my  money  from  the  bank,  for  I  had  a  longer  voyage  in 
mind,  and  I  should  not  touch  at  Waldeck  again. 

The  wind  was  faint  and  baffling  when  I  set  sail  for 


364  POWER    LOT 

home,  but  it  breezed  handsomely  to  a  flying  gale  with 
the  high  tide,  and  I  made  port  before  sunset. 

Then  for  the  next  few  days  came  the  waiting  for 
the  boat  I  had  engaged  to  bring  the  doctor  over  from 
Waldeck  to  show  in  the  offing;  that,  and  the  necessary 
precautions  for  Mary  and  Rob  and  Cuby.  I  could 
have  broken  up  the  nest  at  Spook  House,  but  that  would 
have  brought  Bate's  recent  history  to  light,  and  he  was 
Mary's  brother;  his  crime  had  been  against  Rob,  whom 
she  loved;  and  I,  with  heart  and  soul,  was  all  for  bind- 
ing their  romance  now,  not  destroying  it.  And  to 
spirit  Mary  and  Rob  away,  and  to  take  Cuby  away,  be- 
fore harm  befell  them,  that  was  my  work. 

Some  labor  I  did  in  the  cornfield  too,  where  my 
scarecrow  stood  true.  Mrs.  Byjo  was  true.  She  slept 
for  defense  on  the  lounge  in  the  house,  while  I  slept 
in  the  shed,  unknown  to  them  within. 

"  What  ailed  Stu  Belcher  t'other  night?  "  Mrs.  Byjo 
inquired,  passing  sturdily  through  the  field  on  her  way 
home.  "  Queerest  ructions  I  ever  knew  concerning 
Stu.  I  knew  he  took  a  little  once  in  a  while,  but  I 
thought  he  always  kept  his  head." 

"Why,  what  now?" 

"  Why,  about  ten  o'clock  o'  night,  I  was  reading,  I 
heard  the  steadiest  snoring  out  in  the  shed — good, 
peaceable,  honest,  thundering  snoring.  There  wasn't 
any  villainy  to  that  snore,  and  it  was  dead  heavy;  no 
timber  that  snored  like  that  would  work  ye  any  harm. 
And  I  went  and  looked,  and  there  lay  Stu  Belcher. 
I  shut  the  door  and  went  back  to  consider  of  it.  If 
you'll  believe  me,  he  lay  there  and  kept  his  exhaust  pipe 
going  at  that  same  pace,  without  any  break,  till  morn- 


THE    STEEP    WAY  365 

ing;  for  I  lay  awake  a  long  time,  listening,  and  every 
time  I  woke  afterwards,  I  heard  him,  drawing  his  coal 
and  freight  cars  up  grade,  all  the  night  through." 

44  Funny.  Nothing  disturbed  him — no  mice?  No 
cats?" 

"  The  cat  was  inside  under  the  stove,  and  I  cleaned 
all  the  rodents  out  o'  there  long  ago.  But  the  question 
is,  what  was  he  there  for?  I  said  nothing  to  Mary. 
Thought  I'd  ask  you  first."  Her  eye  twinkled. 

"  Good  old  Stu,"  I  said ;  "  he's  sort  of  eccentric,  you 
know.  Don't  give  him  away." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Byjo,  her  commonplace  eyes  flash- 
ing intelligence  at  me,  and  with  an  approving  tremble 
in  her  voice,  "  *  good  old '  Jim,  nor  I  won't  give  you 
away,  neither." 

Before  noon  I  went  down  to  the  River  again,  where 
Cuby  was  on  the  lookout  continually  for  the  sail  that 
should  bring  deliverance  in  the  person  of  the  great 
doctor. 

It  was  yet  hardly  time  for  it,  we  considered,  when 
after  a  day's  work,  as  I  stood  looking  off  at  the  grand 
desolate  gorge  of  the  river  with  the  lead  of  suspense 
on  my  heart,  Cuby,  from  her  cabin  door,  called  to  me 
excitedly,  but  softly: 

"  Jeem,  thes'el!  It  is  come!  Itisheem!"  The  tide 
was  low,  and  the  boat  anchored  far  out.  Two  men 
boarded  the  little  punt;  one  landed  and  the  other  re- 
turned to  the  boat.  By  that  time  I  had  raced  to  the 
shore.  Doctor  Margate  approached  me,  his  usually 
ruddy  face  as  pale  as  death. 

"Is  she  very  ill,  Jim?"  he  said.  "What  is  the 
matter?" 


366  POWER    LOT 

"Mary— «he  is  well,"  I  said. 

A  great  light  came  over  his  face  suddenly. 

"  Does  she  want  me?  "  he  asked.  "  Does  she  want 
me  to  take  her  away?  " 

"  Sit  down  here  a  minute  first,  sit  down  here  on  the 
bowlder,"  I  said.  "  Mary  Stingaree's  a  wonderful 
woman,  a  sublime  woman,  but  she  seems  to  mix  up  the 
ideas  in  a  fellow's  head  sometimes.  I  know  how  that  is. 
Let's  sit  down  here  now,  and  see  straight.  I — I've  got 
a  story  to  tell  ye;  but  before  I  begin  it  I  want  to  say 
that  Rob — he's  done  well." 

"  Right !  Jim  Turbine,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I'm  afraid 
that  I  know  your  story,"  he  added.  "Rob  has  done 
well — marvelously  well,  I'm  afraid?  " 

I  chuckled  the  same  despairing  chuckle  that  he  did. 

"  You're  a  big  man,  I  know,"  I  said,  "  but  you  ain't 
left  anything  more  important  back  there  in  the  States 
than  what  you've  come  to  here." 

His  look  dwelt  on  me  kindly,  without  words,  singu- 
larly long. 

"  Look  here,"  I  braced  up  to  say,  laughing,  for  I 
did  not  understand  his  look ;  "  me  and  some  other 
tremendous  old  hulks  o'  bears,  that  might  'a'  torn 
everything  to  pieces  if  they'd  been  a  mind  to — we've 
marched  and  we've  wrastled  and  climbed  and  made  our 
prayers  even.  I  reckon  you've  done  some  wrastlin' 
and  climbing  on  your  own  account,  doctor." 

"  Yes,  Jim,  you  and  I  have  climbed,  but  I  think  you 
have  done,  impetuously  and  fearlessly,  and  wholly  and 
decisively — you  have  attained  something  of  a  peak  be- 
yond my  reach,  my  good  fellow." 

Educated  people  have  a  way  of  making  you  think 


THE    STEEP   WAY  367 

that  they're  smiling  at  you  inside.  Mary  had  it.  But 
I  did  not  heed  it.  I  had  more  to  say. 

"  You  will  father  that  union  between  Rob  and  Mary, 
doctor?  They  will  be  rich,  I  know.  You  will  do  all 
that  mortal  can  do  to  make  them  happy  ?  " 

He  seemed  to  be  overinterested  in  studying  my 
gnarled  visage. 

"  You  are  not  old,  Jim,"  he  said.  "  I've  been  told 
something  about  you.  You  have  stood  back  of  Mary 
Stingaree  always  when  she  was  here,  protecting  her, 
looking  out  for  her,  without  her  full  knowledge." 

"  I  could  not  do  much,"  I  said  impatiently,  for  he 
would  not  come  to  the  point. 

"  You  loved  her  best  of  all,  Jim! " 

"  Me !  "  I  turned  and  laughed.  "  Her — for  me ! 
What  is  loving?  "  I  said.  "  Say,  I  been  through  some 
storms  I've  clambered  up  the  steeps  yonder  many  a 
wild  night,  alone.  There's  a  view  when  ye  git  up  there. 
Love  is  pretty  much  carin'  for  them  that  needs  care, 
ain't  it?  " 

His  face  flushed  with  a  color  that  was  not  angry. 

"  People  cfo  not  usually  act  thus,  and  with  the  im- 
pulse of  a  dart  from  the  sky,  Jim." 

"  I  haven't  done  it  very  well,  I  know,"  I  answered 
him;  "but— I  done  it." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  said  he,  in  a  quiet,  off-hand 
way.  "We've  got  nothing  better  back  there  in  the 
great  city  of  advantages  to  give  Rob  than  he  has 
found  here,  Jim." 

"  That's  true,  too,"  I  answered.  "  The  work  was 
wonderful  good  for  the  lad ;  and  he  caught  on  to  the 
idea  of  foregoing  what  he  just  wanted  for  what  he 


368  POWER    LOT 

ought  to  do.  He  caught  on  to  that,  wonderful.  Shall 
we  climb  the  steep  way,  doctor?  It's  the  shortest.  Let 
me  carry  your  bag." 

He  handed  me  his  burden.  Where  the  hill-lane 
turns  off  to  the  hamlet  of  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  I 
stood  a  moment  before  I  left  him.  There  was  a  strug- 
gle. I  had  reckoned  on  handing  the  release  to  Rob 
myself.  I'd  sort  of  pictured  it;  but  the  doctor  looked 
so  forlorn  and  courageous  standing  there,  with  the 
steady  light  of  duty  in  his  eyes,  it  came  easy  after  all,  at 
the  wrench. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  I  says,  "  will  you  give  this  paper 
to  Rob  and  Mary?  I  can't  go  there  just  now,  I  got 
so  much  to  do." 

He  smiled  long  at  me. 

"  No,  Jim  Turbine,"  he  said,  "  I'll  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  You  must  bring  that  yourself  later  on." 

I  thrust  it  in  his  hand  and  fled.  I  had  joy  of  it.  No 
man  ruled  me.  I  did  what  I  would. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

MRS.    BYJO    KISSES    HEE    BOARDER 

As  the  doctor  approached  the  house  the  sordid  poverty 
of  its  surroundings  struck  him  as  it  had  not  done  be- 
fore, when  he  had  a  blissful  hope  in  his  heart. 

The  romance  was  not  for  him.  The  fences  were  no 
longer  picturesque ;  they  were  distressful  .and  broken 
down ;  the  attitude  of  the  little  porch  and  of  the  whole 
house  breathed  destitution  and  decay.  Pausing  for  a 
moment,  he  heard  steps  behind  him,  and  turned  to  see 
Mrs.  By  jo. 

"  What !  "  said  she,  grasping  his  hand  in  cordial  sur- 
prise, .and  holding  it  with  fraternal  loyalty.  "  What ! 
By  Jo — my  boarder !  " 

"  So  you  did  not  know  that  I  was  expected?  "  he 
answered,  acknowledging  with  a  genial  smile  the  wel- 
come beaming  upon  him  through  her  spectacles,  while 
she  seemed  manly  unconscious  that  his  hand  was  still 
clasped  in  her  own  hard  palm. 

"I  sighted  the  event,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Byjo;  "but 
not  quite  so  near.  The  Lord  has  sent  ye  in  the  nick  o' 
time.  Doctor,  I've  got  a  story  to  tell  ye.  Rob's  done 
well." 

"  So  I  have  heard." 

"Who  told  ye?" 

"  Jim  Turbine.     In  fact,  he  sent  for  me." 

"He  did,  did  he?"  She  dropped  his  hand  in  her 
disinterested  joy.  "  By  Jo,  Jim's  done  well." 


370  POWER    LOT 

"  Who  is  doing  well  by  me?  "  the  doctor  blurted  out 
whimsically. 

Mrs.  Byjo  studied  him  without  comprehension.  Her 
own  life  of  complete  self-sacrifice  had  not  acquainted 
her  with  many  habits  of  personal  choice  or  ambition. 
The  simple  bewilderment  on  her  face  cut  the  doctor's 
spirit  of  badinage  to  the  quick. 

"  No  wonder  Rob  has  done  well,"  he  subjoined;  "  no 
wonder  Jim  has  done  well.  If  you  would  only  have 
adopted  me  at  Power  Lot  I  might  have  done  well,  too. 
You  were  always  kind  to  me,  but  you  would  not  make 
me  one  of  your  own,  you  know." 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  you  never  asked  me,  and  I  shouldn't 
if  ye  had.  My  family  was  such — next  thing  to  royal — 
there  was  very  few  fit  for  me  to  mate  with,  even  if  I'd 
had  the  mind." 

Her  eyes  twinkled  humorously  behind  her  glasses. 
Nevertheless  her  straight  little  figure  was  as  actually 
commanding  as  it  was  grotesque. 

"  Well,"  he  sighed,  following  her  lead  with  interest, 
"  that  is  a  pity.  I  can  assure  you  the  magnet  that  drew 
me  back  here  was  strong." 

"  I  know  it  was,"  she  declared  seriously ;  and  her 
round  face  sobered.  "  I  know  that.  The  magnet  that 
drew  ye  was  the  hope  of  freeing  Rob  and  Mary  and 
starting  'em  off  happy  together;  and  I  bet  on  ye, 
doctor.  I  bet  on  ye,  by  Jo !  I  bet  my  cattle  and  cart 
on  ye!  I  bet  my  house  and  barn  on  ye!  I  bet  my 
potato  crop,  and  my  livin'  soul  on  ye !  Your  name  may 
not  be  in  the  heraldry,  or  it  may  be — I  don't  know  as  to 
that — but  for  honest,  straightforward  doing  of  your 
part  in  the  sight  of  God,  you  come  next  to  the  Staf- 


MRS.    BYJO    KISSES    HER    BOARDER    371 

fords.  Well,"  she  added  blithely,  "  your  old  room 
facin'  to  the  Bay  is  all  ready  for  ye,  doctor — and  the 
fish  '11  be  fried  just  to  suit  ye  after  ye've  been  over  to 
see  the  folks.  Quit  'em  as  soon  as  ye  can,  and  come 
'round  where  things  are  sensible." 

She  turned  toward  her  own  house.  The  doctor 
watched  her.  Never  between  heaven  and  earth  had  he 
seen  so  assertive  and  self-confident  a  gait. 

"  There's  a  thorough  antidote  for  all  self-commu- 
nings,"  he  commented  admiringly  on  her  retreating 
figure.  He  rather  hoped  not  to  meet  Rob  just  yet, 
when  he  entered  the  Stingaree  house.  The  young  man 
whom  he  had  saved  had,  though  innocently,  defrauded 
him  in  return  of  something  dearer  than  his  possessions, 
dearer  almost  than  life  itself;  and,  for  a  weak  instant 
only,  he  dreaded  to  meet  that  engaging  sunny  face. 
He  had  his  wish.  Rob  was  farther  down  the  bluffs, 
pasturing  half-a-dozen  sheep  which,  while  his  arm  was 
still  in  sling,  he  had  purchased  as  a  humble  accessory  to 
his  dreams  of  accumulating  wealth. 

Mary,  alone,  too  full  of  anxiety  to  be  able  to  con- 
centrate hej*  unoccupied  moments  on  a  book,  had  been 
rummaging  about  the  old  house,  dusting  and  rearrang- 
ing, looking  over  the  few  remaining  possessions  of  her 
own  from  a  wardrobe  that  had  once  been  dainty  and 
complete. 

Her  constant  thought  was  that  Bate  might  come  in, 
surly  and  ashamed ;  so  she  conceived  the  idea  of  dress- 
ing girlishly  in  white,  with  ribbons  at  waist  and  throat ; 
taking  him  off  guard  and  keeping  him  by  a  manner  of 
assumed  festivity  and  utter  oblivion  to  his  past;  meet- 
ing him  with  smiles  and  cheer  and  welcome. 


372  POWER    LOT 

"  So  that  he  will  not  feel  that  there  is  any  reproach 
toward  him,  nor  be  afraid — and  not  think  me  old  and 
sad.  For  I  am  young,  really,"  she  murmured.  "  If  I 
could  only  move  him — if  I  could  get  him  to  take  me 
away  before  Rob  brings  her  to  the  hill  to  live;  for  I 
cannot  bear  that.  If  I  could  go  away  with  Bate,  and 
save  him,  and  care  for  him.  He  may  come  to-night." 

As  a  sudden  fulfillment  to  her  hope  and  purpose  she 
heard  a  man's  step  on  the  porch ;  and — it  was  not  Rob's, 
she  knew — therefore,  it  must  be  Bate's.  She  went  to 
meet  him  with  an  eager  smile. 

Doctor  Margate  was  well  convinced  in  that  instant 
that  Mary  Stingaree,  at  least,  had  not  expected  him. 
She  stood  as  though  some  blow  had  smitten  her,  as 
frightened  and  appealing  as  any  sweet  human  lass  clad 
all  in  white. 

"  Doctor  Margate — what  is  the  matter?  "  she  cried, 
and  then,  "Where  is  Rob?" 

"  Yonder,"  replied  the  doctor,  pointing  to  where  in 
the  distance  Rob  had  just  stopped  at  the  affianced  Mrs. 
Treet's  door  for  a  chat  on  his  way  home.  He  drew  her 
to  a  chair.  Her  weakness  seemed  the  greater  for  the 
years  wherein  she  had  stood  so  firmly  to  her  ideals  of 
duty  and  devotion.  Her  girlish  faintness  and  silence, 
the  dark,  troubled  eyes  lifted  to  him  with  question  and 
appeal,  bade  him  still  again  the  tumult  in  his  own  heart. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he,  strangely,  guardedly,  not  touch- 
ing her ;  "  Rob  has  won  your  heart,  and,  since  he  has 
done  that,  the  days  of  poverty  and  struggle  and  social 
ostracism  are  over  for  you  both.  You  shall  take  your 
proper  place.  That  is  why  I.  have  come.  To  take  you 
and  Rob  away." 


MRS.    BYJO    KISSES    HER    BOARDER     373 

"  Rob  is  bound,"  said  Mary,  the  old  purpose  and 
resolve  showing  bleakly,  but  true,  in  her  beautiful  eyes. 
"  Rob  is  bound.  You  do  not  remember." 

"  He  is  bound  home,  with  you.  The  marriage  be- 
tween him  and  Cuby  Tee-bo  was  simply  a  farce. 
Neither  legally  nor  morally  is  it  binding.  Moreover, 
James  Turbine  is  going  to  marry  the  girl  and  take 
her  away  out  of  harm's  way." 

"Jim!" 

"  Let  me  tell  you.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  all.  It  is 
best.  Your  brother  is  insane  in  his  excesses.  He — 
attempted  to  kill  Rob — at  some  quarry.  He  stole  his 
money,  though  compelled  afterwards  to  return  that. 
He  is  hanging  about  now,  with  someone  to  share  his 
orgy,  at  the  old  '  Spook  House,'  with  the  intention  of 
doing  further  harm.  Put  him  into  my  hands.  If 
aught  in  this  world  can  help  him — he  will  be  helped. 
Let  me  have  that  in  charge.  Some  part  of  your  life 
I  crave ;  dear  girl,  let  that  be  my  portion  of  your 
family  life." 

There  was  no  scorn  on  the  great  man's  lips.  Mary 
stretched  out  her  hands  as  one  falling  clutches  at  some 
support.  The  doctor  did  not  take  her  hands,  though 
his  words  were  inexpressibly  tender  in  tone. 

"  You  must  bear  bravely  still  the  trial  of  this 
brother's  life,"  he  said.  "  But  you  must  be  true  to 
others  as  well.  You  must  be  true  to  Rob.  If  you  or 
he  still  have  any  doubt  as  to  your  duty  or  your  abso- 
lute freedom,  why,  I  understand  " — the  doctor  smiled 
— "  that  the  fact  that  the  marriage  was  a  farce  is  so 
admitted  and  set  down  in  black  and  white  in  a  paper 
which  James  Turbine  obtained  and  secured,  and  gave 


374  POWER    LOT 

me  to  hand  to  Rob.  I  have  it  safe.  But  I  shall  see 
that  Captain  Turbine  gives  it  to  the  joyful  Rob,  him- 
self; for  I  fancy  that  he  took  heroic  measures  to 
obtain  it." 

"Jim!" 

When  they  were  in  stress  of  thought,  or  had  nothing 
else  to  say,  they  put  the  burden  of  speech  off  on  to  that 
easy-spoken,  brief  name — they  just  said  "  Jim." 

"  For  no  other  woman  " — the  tender  smile  on  the 
doctor's  face  grew  whimsical — "  could  I  have  returned 
that  fine  young  rascal  so  quickly  to  his  inheritance. 
With  you,  I  am  not  afraid.  He  did  well  for  himself, 
indeed,  when  he  won  your  heart.  He  will  be  here  soon. 
You  are  very  sweet  to-night,  and  beautiful,  troubled, 
glad,  helpless,  soft,  and  young.  You  would  rive  the 
heart  of  any  man — who  loved  you.  Do  not  tease  Rob. 
Your  eyes  melt  the  soul  of  a  man,  and  bewilder  him — 
any  man  who  loved  you.  And  as  for  Rob,  they  say 
he  worships  you." 

He  did  not  turn  to  her  again.  "  I  am  going  to  my 
good  friend  Mrs.  By  jo,"  he  said.  "  When  I  see  you 
again  you  and  Rob  must  have  your  plans  made,  or  I 
shall  have  to  carry  you  both  away  by  force." 

Mrs.  Byjo,  her  evening  work  done,  was  waiting  for 
her  "  boarder." 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor  cheerfully,  in  straight- 
forward Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  fashion,  "  Mary  and 
Rob  are  going  away  with  me,  to  be  married.  They 
will  have  the  means  to  live  in  royal  style,  my  good 
friend.  Captain  James  Turbine  will  be  marrying  Cuby 
and  roaming  away  with  her." 

Mrs.  Byjo  suddenly  sprang  forward  and  kissed  the 


MRS.    BYJO    KISSES    HER    BOARDER     375 

gentle  though  distinguished  gentleman.  Her  spectacles 
were  scattered  with  the  impetuosity  of  the  impact,  and 
she  searched  for  them  without  embarrassment,  and  with 
joyful  tears  in  her  eyes,  the  doctor  aiding  her. 

"  I  thank  you  for  that  mark  of  your  approval — and 
condescension,  Mrs.  Stafford,"  he  said  very  gravely; 
and  added  gently,  "  I  hold  that  kiss  as  sacred." 

"  If  I  was  young  and  handsome  and  rich,  which  I 
never  was,"  said  Mrs.  Byjo,  settling  her  restored 
glasses  on  her  pathetic  little  snub  nose,  "  you'd  seem 
like  a  brother  to  me;  for  being  of  the  family  I  am, 
and  not  knowing  yours,  I  don't  know  as  I  could  con- 
sider any  closer  tie;  but  the  poor  old  woman  couldn't 
help  giving  ye  a  smack." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  that  I  have  a  royal  sister," 
replied  the  doctor,  "  who  has  given  me  a  token  of 
esteem  which  I  hold  forever  sacred." 


CHAPTER    XXX 

ALL   IN    WHITE 

CUBY  could  tie  her  clothes  in  a  bundle.  She  could  wear 
her  Sunday  hat  till  the  sea  winds  tore  and  the  fogs 
wilted  it.  That  would  be  part  of  her  honeymoon.  Then 
she  would  go  cheerfully  back  to  the  old  felt  headgear. 
Life  was  plain  and  easy  for  us  to  sail  forth  unhampered. 

"  You  are  bold,"  my  bride-elect  commended  me,  with 
a  vain  toss  of  the  head ;  "  you  wait  not,  you  go  sweef t 
as  the  wind.  But  Ma'y  Sting'ree  and  Rob,  they  go 
not  so  much  even  as  a  leetle  way  with  us?  "  she  asked, 
anxious  to  be  assured  on  that  point. 

"  No,  another  boat  is  engaged  to  take  them  to  Wai- 
deck,  and  then  they  will  go  by  the  railroad ;  they  will 
go  back  to  a  life  you  and  I  know  nothing  about.  But 
you  and  I  will  sail  where  we  will,  Cuby,  and  anchor 
where  we  will;  and  when  we  find  the  right  place — the 
place  that  suits  us — we'll  settle  down  there  and  live  by 
the  fishing." 

"  You  will  be  'appy  if  you  are  on  the  water  every 
day,  Jeem  ?  "  she  said  wistfully. 

That  went  to  my  heart. 

"  We  will  be  happy  on  the  water  or  on  shore  at 
home ;  never  fear,  girl,"  said  I.  And  now  that  my  worl 
was  about  done,  I  was  as  eager  as  she  to  get  out  to  sea. 
I  had  one  more  night  to  sleep  as  guard  in  the  shed  of 
the  Stingaree  house.  When  their  lights  went  out  up 

376 


ALL    IN    WHITE  377 

yonder  on  the  hill,  then  I  made  my  stealthy  way  thither, 
knowing  that  Cuby  was  safe  by  the  River.  Bate  and 
his  crony  would  not  trouble  her  until  they  had  secured 
the  booty  they  were  reckoning  on. 

There  was  a  patient  show  that  last  evening,  as 
patient  as  the  bears.  After  an  un-theatered  hiatus  of 
months,  the  traveling  shows  were  making  a  record  of 
unprecedented  frequency  along  the  River.  It  was  a 
ventriloquist  this  time — a  ventriloquist  and  sleight-of- 
hand  performer  in  one;  and  so  satanic  and  diabolical 
were  his  occult  powers  believed  to  be,  he  was  relegated 
to  the  basement  of  the  schoolhouse,  the  only  cover 
large  enough  to  hold  his  ready  audience.  Belcher  was 
there.  % 

The  patient  little  showman  waited  long  after  the  hour 
advertised  for  the  initial  dish  of  the  dark  feast  he  was 
to  give,  in  order  to  see  whether  some  of  the  many  faces 
leering  in  from  the  outside  of  the  uncurtained  windows 
would  pay  the  necessary  fee  for  an  entrance. 

"  See  here,"  Belcher's  voice  broke  the  silence,  "  you 
got  a  good-sized  audience  inside  here — all  the  chairs  '11 
hold.  Go  ahead  with  your  fork-lightning  and  salt- 
peter." 

With  a  consenting  sigh  our  entertainer  seated  him- 
self on  a  deal  chair  in  the  center  of  the  platform,  a 
caricature  of  the  Irish  race  represented  in  the  doll 
which  he  held  on  his  right  knee,  while  on  the  other  knee 
he  supported  an  equally  exaggerated  type  of  dark  and 
unkempt  Africa. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  let  me  introduce 
to  you  Mr.  Maguire  and  Mr.  Johnsing,  who  will  now 
carry  on  a  mysterious  conversation  together  without  the 


378  POWER    LOT 

aid  of  human  instruments.  As  you  observe  and  listen, 
you  will  wonder  how  these  little  mechanical  devices — 
for  I  assure  you  these  are  nothing  but  ordinary  dolls — 
can  open  and  shut  their  mouths,  and  converse  in  in- 
telligent sounds  plainly  issuing  from  their  own  insides. 
If  anyone  in  my  audience  doubts  that  these  are  simply 
ordinary  dolls,  I  invite  him  to  come  to  the  platform 
and  examine  them  now,  for  they  have  sometimes  been 
interrupted  in  the  midst  of  an  interesting  conversation 
by  clamors  on  the  part  of  the  audience  maintaining 
that  they  were  not  dolls  at  all,  but  human  midgets  that 
I  was  palming  off  upon  them  as  miraculous  talkers. 
Would  anyone  like  to  come  up  and  examine  the 
dolls?" 

A  crude  and  credulous  being  from  the  rear  of  the 
house  wended  his  way  to  the  platform  and  inspected 
carefully  the  objects  on  the  performer's  lap. 

"  Them's  dolls,"  he  reassured  the  audience  with  a 
grin,  and  went  lumberingly  back  to  his  seat  by  the 
water  pail. 

"  You  hear,"  said  the  showman,  "  these  are  none 
other  than  ordinary  dolls.  Now 

"  *  The  tap  o'  the  day  to  yez,  Sambo.  W'ot's  afther 
puttin*  the  kink  in  yer  hair,  eh? '  "  the  mouth  of  the 
Irish  doll,  as  presumable  authority  for  this  rude  speech, 
opened  and  shut  with  the  automatic  regularity  of  a 
piston  rod;  and  a  shout  of  glee  went  up  from  some 
small  untraveled  boys,  for  whom  the  present  occasion 
contained  every  element  of  vivid  excitement. 

"'Min'  yo'  business,  Paddy.  My  haVs  all  right. 
Say,  do  every'body  in  Cork  have  ears  de  size  o* 
yourn?'" 


ALL    IN    WHITE  379 

"  The  nigger-doll's  mouth  ain't  workin',"  protested 
one  of  the  small  boys,  in  a  loud  cry  of  bitter  chagrin. 

The  magician  blushed  with  an  active  emotion,  as  of 
an  old  pain  revived,  and,  working  vigorously  at  the 
crank  concealed  in  Sambo's  back,  he  bent  his  head  to 
observe  whether  the  lips  of  the  recalcitrant  one  moved 
in  becoming  accord;  but  that  thick  orifice  remained 
obstinately  shut.  With  a  deep  sigh  he  laid  the  Irish 
orator  on  the  floor,  and  placing  Africa  face  downwards 
across  his  knees  he  gave  his  entire  attention  to  read- 
justing the  springs  which  so  fatally  controlled  the 
vocal  organs  of  this  dark  subject.  Again  and  again 
he  essayed  to  compel  issuance  of  speech,  but  though 
bold  verbal  assault  and  caustic  ribaldry  possessed  the 
African  from  head  to  toe,  the  mouth  necessary  to  con- 
firm these  emotions  remained  shut  with  the  tenacity  of  a 
sprung  trap. 

"Want  a  screwdriver?"  volunteered  Belcher,  oblig- 
ingly making  his  way  to  the  platform.  "  I  always 
carry  one  in  my  pocket,  and  I  worked  in  a  machine-shop 
a  spell,  once.  We'll  make  Sambo  open  his  mouth,  *r 
know  the  reason  why.  Nobody  ain't  got  no  right  ter 
deliver  themselves  o'  sech  a  mess  o'  sass  as  that  with 
their  mouth  shet." 

While  Belcher,  with  the  sweat  streaming  from  his 
brow — for  the  room  was  close  and  hot — was  thus 
studiously  repairing  the  first  number  of  the  perform- 
er's subtle  programme,  the  flock  who  had  been  gaping 
in  through  the  windows  flowed  noiselessly  in  and  dis- 
posed themselves  in  good  form  among  the  worthier  and 
legitimately  registered  guests. 

But   though   his   back   was   turned   in   anxious    con- 


380  POWER    LOT 

templation  of  Belcher's  skill,  the  showman  was  entirely 
conscious  of  this  act  of  piracy.  He  took  his  collect- 
ing-dish from  among  the  other  resources  and  para- 
phernalia of  his  inscrutable  art,  and  proceeded  to  pass 
it  among  the  newcomers. 

"  No,  thank  ye,"  politely  observed  the  first  pirate 
into  whose  face  the  dish  was  suggestively  thrust.  "  I 
won't  take  anything.  I  had  my  supper  jest  before  I 
left  home." 

"  This,"  explained  the  magician,  "  is  my  dish  for 
collecting  entrance  fees." 

The  courteous  pirate  put  his  hand  to  his  ear  and 
leaned  forward  smilingly.  "  Thank  ye,  jest  the  same," 
he  repeated.  "  I  won't  take  anything.  I  had  my 
supper." 

The  faint  artist  continued  to  wander,  holding  out 
his  dish  in  the  hope  of  finding  truth  and  some  more 
substantial  spoils,  until  interrupted  by  Belcher,  under 
whose  manipulation  Sambo's  mouth  was  now  opening 
to  the  utmost  limit  and  shutting  regularly  with  the  loud 
precision  of  a  corn-sheller. 

"  Oh,  let  'em  alone,  and  come  up  here  and  play  out 
some  more  o'  yer  bill,"  said  the  good-natured  Belcher, 
resuming  his  unofficial  seat  among  the  audience.  "  All 
on  us  that  paid  could  git  our  money  back  ef  we  wanted 
to,  'cause  you  advertised  them  dolls  ter  talk  without 
aid  o'  human  instruments.  A  screw-driver's  a  human 
instrument,  ain't  it?  An'  it's  me  an*  my  screw-driver 
has  geared  up  Sambo,  thar',  into  yawpin'  trim  agin. 
But  we  don't  want  our  money  back.  Ye're  a-doin'  well. 
Ye're  a-doin'  first-rate.  The  show  ain't  what  it  ad- 
vertised ter  be,  but  it's  a  durn  sight  better.  'Xceptin' 


ALL    IN    WHITE  381 

when  some  special  number — like  Sambo  thar' — needs 
regulatin',  it's  the  restfullest  thing  I  ever  went  to. 
Let  the  boys  alone,  Beelzebub;  git  up  onto  the  plat- 
form ;  turn  on  yer  fireworks  agin ;  make  yer  dynamite 
rattle  now." 

Inspired  by  this  pyrotechnic  utterance,  the  disheart- 
ened craftsman  reseated  himself  and  worked  Sambo  and 
Paddy  to  such  facetious  measures,  including  several 
songs,  that  a  round  of  applause  followed.  Misled  by 
this  generous  encouragement,  the  dialogue  stretched 
on  and  on  into  such  overbearing  proportions  of  time 
that  the  pirates  rose  wearily  at  last  and  stalked  boldly 
forth  into  the  outer  elements,  where  they  languidly  re- 
sumed their  old  post  of  observation  at  the  windows. 
They  were  joined  by  a  number,  who,  though  legiti- 
mately entitled  to  the  luxury  of  the  interior,  were  will- 
ing to  forego  their  privilege  for  the  sake  of  the  clearer 
atmosphere  outside ;  among  these  Cuby  and  I  stood 
near  a  window  which  had  been  opened  several  inches  by 
an  unscrupulous  pirate  resolved  to  hear  as  well  as  see. 

Our  cheeks  were  wet  with  tears  of  laughter;  and 
we  were  to  sail  next  day,  the  Lord  knew  where; 
and  there  was  a  suspicion  of  tragedy  in  the  air.  And 
what  there  had  been  to  laugh  at,  I  could  not  have  told 
if  brought  to  any  analysis  of  it,  but  we  had  laughed 
the  very  richness  of  spontaneous  mirth.  Maybe  it 
was  Belcher's  face,  magisterially  grave  and  observant 
of  proceedings  on  the  stage,  or  it  may  have  been  the 
many  unrelated  incidents  among  the  audience,  which 
made  that  body  a  far  livelier  theater  of  action  than  the 
recognized  platform. 

I  sobered,  as  the  free  wind  struck  my  face  again,  and 


382  POWER    LOT 

looked  off  toward  the  hill.  The  lights  were  still  burn- 
ing brightly  there. 

"  When  the  lights  go  out  I  must  see  you  home  and 
then  go  up  yonder  to  my  watch,  Cuby,"  I  said. 

"  All  right,  Jeem,"  replied  my  fearless  little  maiden. 
The  unknown  future  held  only  the  joy  of  release  and 
of  all  possible  adventure  to  her. 

We  heard  Belcher's  voice,  so  dominant  that  it  pealed 
out  roundly  through  the  open  window : 

"  It's  wonderful,  Beelzebub.  The  way  you  make 
them  dolls  talk  without  no  human  agency  is  a  mystery 
to  me,  anyhow.  But  now  the  hour  is  waxin'  kind  o' 
late,  suppose  you  pass  on  to  the  next  figger  in  the  pro- 
gramme. Put  in  some  sulphur  this  time,  Beelzebub ;  we're 
gittin'  a  mite  sleepy." 

The  showman  rose  obediently,  laid  aside  his  dolls, 
and  advanced  to  the  front  of  the  platform  with  a  bow, 
as  a  preface  to  the  next  act. 

**  I  will  now,"  he  said,  "  to  your  astonishment,  take 
from  the  neck  of  anyone  in  the  audience  whom  you 
may  name  and  choose  to  point  out  to  me  for  the  act,  a 
live  goose.  Positively,  a  live  goose.  You  will  be  at 
liberty  to  inspect  and  handle  the  same  after  I  have 
brought  it  to  light,  in  order  to  assure  yourselves  that 
it  is  indeed'  an  ordinary  bird  of  the  species  known  to 
man,  such  as  we  are  all  accustomed  to,  though  its 
mysterious  and  unaccountable  appearance  from  the 
neck  of  anyone  you  may  mention  in  the  audience  has 
never  yet  been  explained  by  any  known  laws  of  science." 

With  another  bow  he  retreated  to  the  dim  corner 
near  a  loose-geared  end  window  where  his  few  stage 
trappings  lay  piled.  He  was  evidently  rummaging, 


ALL    IN    WHITE  883 

and  as  the  search  continued,  it  was  felt  that  some  blight 
had  already  fallen  upon  the  proposed  miracle.  The 
magician  suddenly  rushed  to  the  front  of  the  stage  in 
a  panic. 

"  My  goose  is  gone,"  he  cried  accusingly.  "  Who 
has  stolen  my  goose?  " 

"  Where'd  you  keep  him  ?  "  inquired  Belcher. 

"  In  a  cratebox  under  my  table.  A  blanket  lay  on 
top  of  the  box,  and  my  accordion  was  on  top  of  the 
blanket." 

"Is  yer  accordian  gone?" 

"  No." 

"  Wai',  you  play  something  for  the  folks  on  yer  ac- 
cordian, and  I'll  find  yer  goose  for  ye,"  said  Belcher, 
rising.  He  strolled  out  among  the  pirates  familiarly. 

"  Look-a  here,  you  cubs,"  he  accosted  them,  "  you 
hand  over  poor  Beelzebub's  goose.  Poor  leetle  creetur', 
he  only  charged  five  cents  admission,  an'  it's  a  durn 
sight  funnier  'n  the  real  thing.  An'  you  didn't  pay 
nothin'.  Poor  leetle  cuss,  he  ain't  got  no  gift  for 
what  he's  undertook  ter  do,  but  I'm  goin'  ter  advise 
him  kind  and  gentle  by  'n  by  ter  quit  jugglery,  an' 
steal  a  hymnbook  off  somebody  when  they  ain't  lookin', 
an'  go  off  's  one  o'  these  'ere  furrin  missionaries.  Now 
you  hand  me  over  that  goose,  an'  watch  through  the 
winders  an'  see  Beelzebub  haul  him  outer  Towse  Dud- 
frey's  coat  collar.  Sport's  been  kind  o'  mild  so  fur, 
but  the  wind's  go'n'  ter  breeze  afore  we  git  through. 
Gi'  me  that  goose." 

A  torpid  bird  of  that  description  was  held  out  to 
Belcher,  who  seized  it  and  returned  to  the  scene  of 
troubled  legerdemain.  As  the  showman  saw  him  ap- 


384  POWER    LOT 

preaching  with  the  prize  he  changed  a  plaintive  render- 
ing of  "  Annie  Laurie  "  into  the  jubilant  strains  of 
"  Marching  Through  Georgia." 

But  we  did  not  stay  to  witness  the  fulfillment  of 
Belcher's  prophecy;  the  night  had  worn  on,  the  lights 
were  out  away  off  on  the  hill. 

"  It  was  a  patient  show,"  I  observed  to  Cuby,  con- 
ducting her  home ;  "  the  poor  fellow  was  patient,  and 
he  had  a  gift  of  language." 

"  Capataine  Belcher  could  do  a  more  bettaire  show 
than  heem,"  said  Cuby.  She  would  have  regretted 
deeply  leaving  the  sprightly  scene  at  this  inconclusive 
hour,  had  not  her  mind  been  full  of  the  supreme  ad- 
venture on  which  we  were  to  embark  on  the  morrow. 

I  kissed  her  good-night,  and  turned  to  my  long 
tramp  towards  the  steeps,  and  up  them,  to  fulfill  my  last 
watch  in  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us.  The  moon  was 
almost  at  its  full,  and  the  brooding  of  it  over  ocean, 
hill  and  plain  was  like  a  voice  falling  infinitely  peace- 
ful and  tender — one  knew  not  from  where.  It  was 
more  than  moonlight  on  the  quiet  earth;  it  was  a 
plain  speaking,  though  I  knew  not  the  language  of  it. 

Down  below,  they  opened  all  the  windows  where 
the  show  was  in  progress,  therefore  I  heard;  the  ma- 
gician had  struck  up  an  air,  the  sweet  old  melody  of 
which  reached  me  faintly  in  the  distance,  "  Nearer, 
My  God,  to  Thee."  The  faint,  far  echo  of  that  strain 
was  like  a  pervading  spirit,  consonant  with  the  moon- 
light, flooding  with  compassion  all  poor  human  jug- 
glery and  endeavor,  even  as  the  moon  flooded  the  earth 
with  tender  glory. 

I  don't  know  what  God  has  got  for  a  man  up  yonder 


ALL    IN    WHITE  385 

— that,  through  a  thought  or  a  strain  of  music  some 
times,  the  sense  comes  to  him  that  nothing  matters  very 
much,  that  there's  nothing  on  earth  but  what  is  easy 
to  put  by,  since  the  voice  that  he  hears,  less  than  a 
whisper  now,  may  speak  to  him  at  last  in  full  tones 
that  he  understands. 

I  had  forgotten  the  habit  of  caution  and  watchful- 
ness to  which  I  had  been  schooling  myself  of  late,  so  ab- 
sorbed was  I  in  the  wonder  that  fell  on  my  heart; 
when,  from  over  on  the  summit,  by  the  old  church — 
"  Spook  House  " — a  scream  of  terror  and  agony  came 
to  me,  piercing  my  very  soul.  I  knew  it  for  Mary's 
voice. 

I  ran  madly.  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  man  flying  across 
to  the  bluffs.  Retribution,  swift  and  sure,  should  find 
him  out,  but  now  my  one  purpose  was  to  reach  her, 
I  leaped  all  obstacles  and  rushed  up  the  hill,  a  horrible 
fear  possessing  me.  The  door  of  the  church  was  open 
and  I  sprang  in. 

Bate  Stingaree  lay  on  the  floor,  gibbering  and  writh- 
ing. Mary  had  slipped,  fainting,  by  the  window  from 
which  she  had  screamed  for  aid. 

"  Jim's  dead,  too,"  raved  Bate,  shriveling  white  be- 
fore my  eyes.  "  Mary's  dead — all  come  to  torment 
me."  The  room  reeked  with  vile  odors  and  with  the 
fumes  of  alcohol.  "  Why,  ain't  you  got  white  clothes 
on,  Jim?  For  you're  dead,  you  and  Ma'y  are  dead,  I 
know  it.  Come,  somebody  that's  alive.  Help !  Help ! 
Where's  the  stuff?  Give  me  something  that  '11  shut 
my  eyes.  I  can't  stand  this."  With  oaths  and  cries 
of  terror,  his  ghastly  hand  crept  over  the  floor,  seeking 
for  his  bottle. 


386  POWER    LOT 

I  lifted  Mary.  It  wrung  my  heart  to  see  the  poor 
white  dress,  in  which  she  had  been  so  happy  and  girlish 
a  little  while  before — she,  to  whom  so  little  happiness 
had  come,  whose  cup  had  ever  been  turned  to  bitterness. 
I  lifted  her  and  carried  her  outside ;  and  as  the  strong 
wind  smote  her  face,  she  gasped  once  and  again,  and 
opened  her  great,  desolate,  dark  eyes  and  knew  me. 

"  Jim,"  she  said,  and  seized  my  hand  convulsively, 
as  though  she  feared  that  I  would  move  from  her  side. 

"Why,  yes,  it's  old  Jim,"  I  soothed  her.  "It's 
old  Jim,  sure,  in  the  flesh." 

Leaning  heavily  on  my  arm,  so  that  I  almost  carried 
her,  as  soon  as  she  was  able  she  drew  me  back  into  the 
church. 

"  Bate,"  she  gasped ;  "  Bate,"  and  pointed  pitifully 
to  where  he  lay.  Bate's  writhing  had  ceased. 

"  It  was  I  frightened  him,"  she  gasped.  "  I  never 
dreamed — I  wanted  to  see  him — I  never  dreamed  he 
was  so — ill — I  never  thought  of  the  white  dress.  Look, 
he  is  not  dead  ?  My  poor  brother !  My  poor  brother !  " 

I  did  not  know.  "  He  is  asleep,"  I  said ;  "  in  a 
drunken  sleep.  Come!  I  must  take  you  home,  and 
bring  help." 

On  the  way,  still  hanging  weakly,  faintly,  to  my  arm, 
she  told  me: 

"I  put  the  lights  out  in  the  house  when  Virginia 
had  gone  to  sleep.  Rob  was  asleep  upstairs.  I  crept 
out.  I,  to  be  so  happy — and  my  brother  wretched  and 
forsaken.  I  meant  to  find  him — to  plead  with  him 
once  more — to  talk  over  with  him  what  he  should  do. 
I  was  not  afraid.  I  did  not  think  about  my  white  dress 
— nor  the  strangeness  of  my  going  in  the  night,  alone 


ALL    IN    WHITE  387 

— nor  the  name  of  the  old  church,  that  it  was  haunted. 
I  only  felt  that  I  must  see  him. 

"  Once  before,  he  had  hid  there.  I  knew  that  he  was 
there — and  I  went.  There  was  another  man  with  him. 
The  door  was  not  locked.  I  opened  it  and  went  in. 
They  were  leaning  together  at  the  window  toward 
the  steep  road,  watching.  Bate  turned  and  saw  me, 
and  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell.  The  other  leaped  from 
the  window  and  ran.  When  I  saw  Bate's  face — and 
his  groveling  and  writhing — as  if  he  were  hurt — and 
gone  insane — I  screamed." 

I  left  Mary  at  the  house  with  Mrs.  Stafford,  awak- 
ened, and  I  roused  Rob.  Together  we  went  back  to 
the  church.  Bate  lay  quiet  on  the  floor. 

That  desperate,  wild,  sodden  heart  was  steeped  at 
last  in  the  rest  that  waketh  not  to  earth.  Together 
we  carried  him  home — Rob  and  I. 

Mary  lay  on  the  couch  with  Mrs.  Stafford's  friendly 
arm  about  her.  Her  eyes  questioned  me  with  only 
fear  and  horror  in  their  depths. 

"  We  have  brought  him  home,"  I  said,  "  and  God 
has  brought  him  home.  What  do  you  think,"  I  said 
sharply  and  sternly,  for  she  would  have  fainted  again, 
"  have  you  lived  up  here,  looking  off  on  the  sea  from 
Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  so  long,  not  to  remember 
ever  that  the  Great  Deep  is  infinite?  " 

Her  eyes,  fastened  upon  me,  besought  me. 

"  He  was  born,"  I  said,  "  weak  and  infirm  of  nature 
— with  what  defects  God  knows  who  has  taken  him — 
has  taken  him  home,  I  say.  And  it  is  well.  You  are 
no  true  hearts  that  would  say  otherwise.  By  the  look 
on  his  poor  face,  he  too  was  born  again  even  in  the 


388  POWER    LOT 

moment  of  his  passing.  Why  not?  Do  not  wail  and 
weep,  as  if  you  and  we  alone  had  the  insight  of  God's 
long  plans  and  the  monopoly  of  His  mercy." 

"  Jim,"  she  gasped,  appealing,  "  I — blame — myself." 

"  You  are  weak  then,  Mary.  You  went  to  him  as  a 
last  brave  impulse  in  a  long  drill  of  unrequited  for- 
bearance and  devotion.  It  would  have  been  the  same. 
He  would  only  have  worked  further  ill  here.  It  is 
well.  But  you  are  only  faithless  and  unloving,  weak 
and  frightened,  in  the  thoughts  you  have  toward  him 
now — and  that  is  not  like  you." 

The  hope  and  color  of  the  living  had  come  back  a 
little  faintly  to  her  face,  and  she  was  resting  now 
upon  Rob's  strong  arm;  but  her  hand  she  lifted  up 
and  placed  in  mine. 

"  You  are  very  sure,  Jim  ?  You  believe  those  words 
you  said?  " 

"  Aye,  I  believe  them  with  all  my  soul." 

"  No,  but  hold  my  hand  a  little,  Jim,"  she  said,  al- 
most fretfully.  "  I  am  so  tired." 

Rob  did  not  begrudge  me  that.  She  closed  her  poor, 
fear-tortured  eyes,  and  sank  at  last  into  a  blessed 
sleep.  Slowly  then  not  to  waken  her,  though  I  knew 
that  never  on  earth  should  I  look  into  the  depths  of 
her  eyes  again — I  unloosed  the  thin,  sweet  hand,  the 
dear,  dear  hand  that  clung  to  mine. 

"  I  am  making  away  to-morrow,  Rob,"  I  said.  "  It 
is  clear  sailing  for  you  now.  You  will  delay  your 
going  a  day  or  two,  but  not  longer.  It  is  all  arranged 
about  the  boat  that  will  take  you  over.  Let  Belcher 
know  for  what  day  and  tide  you  will  need  it,  that  is 
all.  So — good-by,  old  man." 


ALL    IN    WHITE  389 

"  But,  Jim,"  he  said,  following  me  to  the  door ; 
"  Jim."  Except  for  my  name,  which  he  could  speak, 
his  mouth  made  soundless  motions  like  a  stutterer's. 

I  laughed  as  I  grasped  his  hand.  Someone  must 
stand  firm.  "  Wish  me  joy,  old  fellow.  I'm  off  to  sea 
before  you." 

"  But — Jim "  He  put  his  arm  around  my  neck. 

I  caught  the  sound  of  a  sob  that  seemed  to  tear  the 
strong  fellow's  heart,  and  I  tore  myself  from  him  and 
dashed  away  to  the  River. 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

POWER     LOT,     GOD     HELP     US 

CUBY  had  not  made  too  sanguine  a  promise;  she  was 
a  good  sailor,  indeed.  So  we  cruised  far,  making  a 
strange  port  now  and  then,  until  at  last  we  anchored 
by  the  little  fishing  hamlet  which  we  have  known  for 
home  ever  since,  and  which  we  knew  for  home  as  soon 
as  ever  we  had  entered  it. 

In  certain  storms,  in  certain  great  winds,  the  surf 
knocks  even  at  our  door.  If  we  are  content  with  our 
nest  by  the  cliffs — still,  we  know  the  way  of  the  voy- 
ager that  reckons  on  no  long  abiding.  It  is  his  call- 
ing, never  forgotten  of  his  soul — the  calling  of  the 
voyager.  Though  he  was  content  in  his  dwelling  by  the 
shore,  and  cruised  not  far  any  more — as  once  he  did 
— but  watched  the  tides  and  hauled  his  nets,  and  dwelt 
at  peace  with  children  and  wife,  and  all  the  souls  about 
him;  still,  ever  the  calling  of  the  sea  is  upon  him,  and 
them. 

It  is  but  nature,  and  nature  is  but  God;  and  none 
shall  lose  his  way  in  the  wildest  night,  clinging  by 
wreck  or  spar — none  shall  lose  his  way.  This  is  the 
knowledge  of  the  voyager. 

It  was  five  years  after  Cuby  and  I  had  sailed  away 
from  Power  Lot,  God  Help  Us,  and  the  River.  It 
happened  strangely.  Two  miles  farther  down  the  shore 
there  is  a  little  colony  of  "  summer  cottages  "  and  a 

390 


POWER    LOT,    GOD    HELP    US          391 

fine  inn  for  travelers,  whose  life  is  as  remote  from  ours 
as  though  we  and  they  inhabited  different  continents. 

It  happened  one  day  when  I  had  delivered  some  fish, 
by  order,  at  the  inn;  and  a  waiter  of  finer  manners 
and  clothes  than  any  I  had  ever  dreamed  of  wearing 
had  brought  the  money  to  me  in  the  kitchen.  I  heard, 
thrashing  and  slewing  'round  to  the  porch,  one  of  those 
fiend  carriages  that  fly  over  country  without  horses. 
It  was  a  very  large  and  splendid  contraption  of  its 
kind,  and  in  it  sat — Rob  Hilton. 

"  Who  is  that? "  I  said  sharply  to  the  waiter  in 
broadcloth,  not  knowing  what  I  said. 

"  Swell  by  the  name  of  Hilton,"  he  replied.  "  Him 
and  his  wife  came  last  night  with  their  shofer.  Big 
swells.  Engaged  the  most  desirable  rooms  in  the  house 
for  three  days.  Touring  the  country.  Fine  people. 
Grand  style." 

I  made  my  way  home.  I  said  nothing  to  Cuby,  who 
slept  as  soundly  as  our  boys  even  before  the  darkness 
had  well  settled  down.  But  when  I  thought  that  Rob 
would  have  finished  his  dinner  and  might  possibly  go 
strolling  about  the  shore  near  the  inn  with  his  cigar, 
I  made  my  way  over  there  again.  I  stood  out  of  sight 
in  the  lee  of  an  old  black  hulk  that  had  been  wrecked 
and  thrown  up  there  long  ago,  watching. 

There  were  many  people  on  the  piazzas  of  the  inn. 
Rob  was  not  among  those  people,  nor  Mary. 

I  waited,  moistening  my  parched  lips,  and  with 
straining  eyes  as  the  shadows  grew  heavier;  and,  in 
spite  of  hope,  could  hardly  believe  my  senses  when  at 
last  a  big  figure,  emerging  from  the  door,  loomed  up 
and  sauntered  slowly  down  along  the  shore  toward 


392  POWER    LOT 

the  old  vessel's  hulk.  I  saw  the  glowing  spark  of  his 
cigar  drawing  near  and  nearer. 

"  Rob,"  I  said  softly  and  gladly ;   "  hello,  Rob ! " 

The  cigar  fell  from  his  lips,  scattering  its  sparks 
upon  the  beach.  "  Jim !  "  he  cried,  and  rushed  toward 
me.  If  he  had  thrown  his  arm  around  me  condescend- 
ingly, if  he  had  reeled  off  glibly  any  words  of  aston- 
ishment and  delight  at  the  meeting,  I  should  have  hated 
him.  But  he  was  always  Rob. 

"  Jim,"  said  he  of  the  child-heart,  standing  pale  and 
trembling  with  a  visible  joy  before  me;  and  this  was 
the  way  he  spoke  to  me,  the  fisherman,  putting  me  above 
him,  as  it  were,  and  not  beneath,  for  the  greatness  of 
his  heart ;  "  Jim,"  he  said,  smiling  the  old  smile  in  my 
face,  "  I've  never  touched  a  drop." 

I  laughed.  The  breezes  of  the  corn  fields  at  Power 
Lot,  God  Help  Us,  seemed  to  blow  again  in  my  face, 
and  there  again  Rob  leaned  on  his  hoe,  in  faded  flannel 
shirt,  responding  eagerly  if  any  poor  denizen  of  the 
place  paused  to  talk  with  him  as  a  brother.  I  drew  him 
to  one  of  the  benches  where  the  idle  summer  people  sat 
by  day.  The  hour  I  was  to  have  with  him  seemed  like 
an  eternity  of  joy. 

"Jim — is  it  really  you?  We  tried  and  tried  to  find 
trace  of  you,  Mary  and  I.  We  wanted  to  make  you 
rich.  We  are  going  to  do  it  now.  Why,  it  just  belongs 
to  you,  that's  all !  " 

"  Ah  no !  No !  I  prefer  to  stand  where  I  do,  lad, 
by  the  work  of  my  own  hands ;  friendly,  on  the  same 
level  and  as  well  off  in  the  world  as  you;  for  it  is  all 
well  with  you ;  you  were  born  to  it  and  know  how 
to  carry  it.  But  for  me,  I  think  a  man  may  have  too 


POWER    LOT,    GOD    HELP    US          393 

much  to  carry,  so  that  he  cannot  sail  free,  or  fears  to 
sail  at  all.  I  was  never  one  that  wished  to  be  much 
hampered." 

Rob's  blue  eyes  caught  fire  in  the  night  as  he  looked 
into  mine. 

"Well,  we  are  sailing  free  too — Mary  and  I.  You 
thought  the  money  would  swallow  us !  "  he  went  on. 
"We  are  not  keeping  it,  Jim — not  using  it  for  our- 
selves. We've  started  colonies — we're  starting  one 
in  this  territory — homes  for  people  to  work  the  land 
and  live  as  God  meant  people  to  live.  We  make  their 
homes  easy  to  earn.  And  in  the  city  " — he  plucked 
me  by  the  arm — his  words  came  fast — "  in  the  city, 
Jim,  we  work  there  too  for  people.  We  work  all  the 
time.  You  ought  to  see  our  tenements.  Jim,  we  work 
— we  work." 

"  Glory  be  to  God !"  I  said,  my  arm  on  his  shoulder. 
The  soul  of  the  voyager  was  his.  He  had  not  settled 
down  in  a  prison  of  gold  on  a  bed  of  down. 

"  Hurrah !  "  I  said,  "  we  are  voyagers  still  together." 

"  Did  you  think,"  he  said,  "  I  would  go  back  to 
any  sty,  after  my  view  off  Power  Lot?  It  would  be 
but  a  sty,  though  with  a  dozen  servants  to  order  it. 
It  would  be  but  a  selfish  sty !  "  His  eyes  shone — oh,  but 
he  was  a  lusty  voyager,  ready  for  the  storm,  ready  for 
the  next  call — he !  I  thought  we  stood  on  the  mountains 
again  together  and  it  was  he  that  had  lifted  me. 

"But  come,"  he  said.  "Mary  will  be  wild  to  see 
you." 

"Wait,"  I  answered  him;  "what  matter?  Let  this 
be  our  meeting,  this  between  you  and  me;  it  is  all 
one.  No,  I  won't  go  in !  Don't  bother  me  with  ques- 


394  POWER    LOT 

tions,  lad.  It  is  better  so.  Say  nothing  to  her.  We 
have  hailed  and  met  and  shall  hail  and  meet  again ; 
but  now  the  time  is  short.  It  is  all  one." 

"  Jim,  we  have  one  child,  one  little  boy,  at  home. 
His  name  is  Jim." 

"  Honest?  " 

"  He  is  James  Turbine  Hilton." 

My  rough  hand  was  laid  on  his.  The  tears  sprang 
to  my  eyes. 

"  God  bless  you,  Rob!  "  We  thought  alike.  "  One  of 
my  three  little  fellows  is  named  Robert  Hilton  Turbine." 

"  Heaven  help  him."  Rob  shed  on  me  the  peculiar, 
familiar  radiance  of  his  smile.  "  Make  him  work  for 
a  living,  Jim." 

"  Aye." 

We  made  no  phrases.  We  talked  as  travelers,  meet- 
ing and  parting,  and  the  words  grew  tense  and  so 
prescient  of  this  near  and  last  farewell  that  they  bab- 
bled over  at  last  into  pleasant  dreamings,  like  those 
that  come  frequently  to '  cast  to  the  winds  the  stilted 
awe  with  which  humanity  surrounds  the  dying. 

So  I  told  him  what  I  had  picked  up  in  chance  voyages 
of  the  people  of  Power  Lot.  "  And  little  Rhody  has 
passed  on,"  I  said.  "  Bert,  who  hung  off  here  for  a 
day  or  two  in  his  schooner,  told  me.  Queer,  too ;  she 
seemed  built  for  a  long  trip,  didn't  she?  Sturdy  as 
a  little  oak." 

"  She  and  I  made  many  a  vow.  We  made  many  a 
promise  to  each  other,"  Rob  said. 

"  Her  father  ran  away  to  another  woman,"  I  went 
on,  "  and  Rhody  got  ill-treated — not  beaten,  as  I  heard 
— but  neglected  and  put  upon  worse  than  ever.  They 


POWER    LOT,    GOD    HELP    US          395 

took  her  into  the  '  church,'  you  know,  and  she  had  a 
great  notion  of  being  faithful.  She  got  kind  of  run 
down  and  disconsolate  with  all  that  was  put  upon  her; 
and  she  took  a  hard  cold  that  turned  into  a  fever,  and 
she  died.  She  was  a  stout  little  lass,  stout  in  spirit  as 
well  as  body." 

"  Well,"  said  Rob,  "  we  raced  each  other  to  Pompey 
Rock  and  home  again,  many  and  many  a  time.  We 
made  more  vpws  to  each  other,  she  and  I." 

He  laughed,  but  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  as  he 
spoke : 

"  One  was,  that  if  she  went  first,  she'd  get  things 
all  cleared  up  for  me  over  yonder — establish  a  sort  of 
prestige  of  good-will  for  me,  so  to  speak,  and  answer 
my  trembling  knock  at  the  gate.  If  I  went  first,  I'd 
do  it  for  her — if  I  was  so  lucky  as  to  get  in  there. 
That  was  the  vow.  Well,  I  shall  keep  my  vow.  Per- 
haps children  know  the  way,  after  all.  Whoever  passes 
in  at  that  dim  gate  before  me,  even  though  it  might 
be  wife  or  child,  I'll  look  for  Rhody  first.  The  rest 
might  wait.  It  should  be  Rhody  first  of  all.  Poor 
little  lass  !  Dear  little  lass !  " 

He  had  remembered  Power  Lot  well. 

He  turned  to  me  and  smiled ;  and  on  the  sweet  faces 
of  womankind  and  children  I  never  saw  so  beautiful 
a  smile  as  was  on  Rob's  face  then. 

"After  all,  it's  only  one  brief  strait  at  last,"  he 
said ;  "  the  same  short  strait  for  all." 

"  Aye,  only  just  the  Gut — no  more." 

"  One  saw  it  all  at  Power  Lot— the  dark  little  Gut 
and  the  shining  infinite  each  side.  One  saw  so  clearly 
there.  But  I  remember." 


«96  POWER    LOT 

"  Aye,  lad,  we  remember.  And  may  the  tide  set 
strong  and  the  wind  breeze  high  when  we  make  out 
through  that  last  strait  into  the  open !  So  we  shall 
hail  each  other  there  again,  and  never  fear,  my  lad 

"  I'll  have  no  fear,  my  brother  Jim,"  said  Rob.  The 
grasp  of  his  hand  on  mine,  I  feel  it  still.  And  so  I 
turned  and  left  him. 


TH3     END 


K  A  T  R  IN  A 


BY 


ROY  ROLFE  GILSON 

Author  of  "In  the  Morning  Glow  " 

With  Illustrations  in  color  by  Alice  Barber 
Stephens.     Crown,  8vo.    $1.50 

The  subtlety  and  charm  of  Mr.  Gilson's 
stories  reach  their  highest  point  in  this 
book.  Larry,  the  newspaper  man,  hu- 
morous, kindly,  homely,  lives  over  again 
the  romance  of  his  younger  days  in  the 
little  daughter  of  the  woman  he  lost. 
Upon  this  slightly  suggested  theme  Mr. 
Gilson  builds  one  of  his  most  charming 
stories,  full  of  the  humor  and  the  ten- 
derness which  mark  all  of  his  work. 
The  illustrations  by  Mrs.  Stephens  deserve 
an  especial  word,  for  the  extraordinary 
sympathy  with  which  they  depict  the 
charm  of  Mr.  Gilson's  characters. 


THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  CO. 

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